


Love Interruption

by NewToTheWaywardParty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beach Holidays, Case Fic, Couples Counseling, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Yoga, couples retreat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 51,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewToTheWaywardParty/pseuds/NewToTheWaywardParty
Summary: My contribution to the genre. A good old Destiel fake boyfriends, couples therapy, beach vacation, bedsharing, jealousy-of-OC, Sam/other pairing, tropey-mctropefest ahead. You have been warned. You have been given an explanation. Nevertheless, you persisted.





	1. Getting There is Half the Fun

**Author's Note:**

> I've been moving works over here from Tumblr and am looking for a few things out of an Ao3 experience: Community (I'm a lurker for a while, getting an account will allow me to interact hehe), a beta (am willing to reciprocate!), and encouragement to grow as a writer. It sucks to post something and have like, 1 person read it on Tumblr. 
> 
> This work has been something I've worked on since summer and I'd say it's 90% complete. It's really big. Not quite novel-length, but longer than anything else I've written to date. I've been adding and editing as I post chapters so I'm really hoping moving it over here will help get a sense of what's working and what's not. 
> 
> I love you and I like you. Please read. If you are nice about it, please tell me what could be better!

Dean looked out the window of the 12-seat propeller airplane, jauntily bouncing on humid air pockets. Below, a small boy ran down the packed dirt track, shouting and waving his arms. Horses galloped off the runway ahead of him, and the boy grinned up at the sky, giving them a thumbs up. 

The pilot, an arm’s reach in front of Dean in the cramped space, nonchalantly guided the small aircraft down as Dean involuntarily grabbed Sam’s arm. This terror was far beyond anything humming Metallica could alleviate. Cas, sitting shotgun to the pilot, grinned back at him excitedly like a child visiting the cockpit. While he did have more experience flying than any of them, but this was probably his first time doing it in an airplane, Dean reflected, disgruntled. His stomach lurched.

Dean felt a sense of unreality that had little to do with the Xanax he had finally consented to ingest upon takeoff from the Belize International Airport to the remote Dangriga “airport”, which appeared to consist of a double-wide trailer sitting off the dusty ‘tarmac’ inhabited by horses seconds earlier. He knew, intellectually, how this happened. He was still having a hard time believing it. Even the harsh jolt of the airplane’s wheels on the lumpy, red dirt runway didn’t jar him from the thought that this couldn’t really be happening.

For example, he knew, logically, that they didn’t work cases outside of the States, generally speaking. He knew there was a reason Sam had given that they trek all the way down to Central America for this one. A hunter network contact Sam knew online had been unable to suss out the cause of a string of missing couples on their own. Dean wasn’t convinced Sam’s closeted desire to surf at the beach wasn’t part of the issue, but his concerns were ignored. 

Then there was the fact that all the missing couples had been participating in a couple’s retreat at a resort in a remote area of Belize, a small Central American country bordering Guatemala on one side, and the Caribbean Ocean on the other. 

Dean vaguely recalled there had been some discussion about he and Sam posing as a couple (since plenty of people mistook them for one, anyway) but Sam had some excuse about being more fluent in Spanish, one of the three primary languages spoken in Belize, and he wanted to do research on the ground with his hunter contact there. Odie, Dean scoffed, was a stupid name for a hunter, and the guy was probably too dumb to nerd out with his brother over the local lore, but whatever. Dean sure as shit didn’t know Spanish much beyond what he had picked up watching Casa Erotica. Somehow, he didn’t think that would help with beastie research. 

Dean also had dim memories of a hurried explanation from Sam describing their female hunter acquaintances’ scheduling conflicts, preventing basically any one of them from joining. What it all boiled down to was-they needed the angel Castiel for this one. His memory was hazy; there had been whiskey involved. So he didn’t remember if the suggestion initially came from Sam or Cas, but one way or another, it was somehow determined that a Dean/Cas tag team would be plausible and convincing as a cover story to infiltrate and investigate the couples retreat.

What Dean could remember was the exhilaration and apprehension he felt at the prospect of taking on this cover story. He didn’t bother trying to let his panic show, though. He had grown up a lot in the past years. He knew protesting too much was not only obvious, but sort of silly. Nothing to do but suck it up. He took it in stride, acted like it was no big deal, and packed a bag. He tried to gauge how much he ‘normally’ interacted with Cas and keep things there on the dial. 

Above all, stay cool, he thought. Dean knew his relationship with Cas wasn’t exactly normal. But he didn’t know what else it could be or how to get there if he wanted to. Dean learned long ago to accept what they had. Not to ask for more. He jammed his earbuds further in his ears and cranked the Jack White, tinny sounds emitting over the engine noise.  _I want love to walk right up and bite me, take a hold of me and fight me, leave me dying on the ground. I want love to split my mouth wide open and cover up my ears and never let me hear a sound._

Dean huffed a sigh, irresistibly reminded of, who else, Cas. but all that love bullcrap wasn’t for hardened soldiers like him. And Cas. Shit, he had learned that a long time ago, with Lisa. He would not let this change things between them. He had it all right where he wanted it to stay. 

What he wasn’t so blase about was the flight. He lost the argument about driving the Impala through Mexico to get here, tag-teamed by both Sam and Cas. Apparently only four-wheel drive diesels were able to navigate Belize’s varied jungle-mountain-beach topography. Not to mention the drive time would be far beyond what they normally hauled, even cross-country. Driving would make them miss the next couples retreat dates, which could mean another missing couple.

White-knuckles and alcohol got him from Texas to Belize on a regular commercial flight. Thank Chuck for the Men of Letters connections and forgeries to get them out of the country without getting arrested. But once Dean saw the bedraggled-looking, 12-seat airplane waiting for them in Belize City he outright refused to board. 

He wouldn’t be coaxed into flying until Cas pointed out Mr. T’s character, B.A., shared his fear of flying and often had to be drugged to fly on The A-Team. The Metatron pop culture dump had its high points, Dean had to admit. Cas argued Dean would make a more effective fighter once they arrived if he was rested, so Dean had finally consented to take the small dose of Xanax. As if he could refuse Cas, ever. He popped the small pink pill, resisting making a Matrix joke, washing it down with a beer against Sam’s objections. Dean figured his liver had handled worse.

So here he was, with his real brother and his fake boyfriend, rolling down the runway, ridges jarring his bones like any backwoods country washboard road. It was sweet, blessed relief to be on the ground again. Sam was to be picked up by his mysterious online hunter contact, Odie, in the nearby city of Hopkins City, population about 1,500. Dean and Cas were being picked up by a local resort van to deliver them to their retreat, geared towards couples experiencing relationship problems. 

Dean rubbed his bleary eyes and wished something in that chain of events had gone differently. Running down the series of events in his head again, Dean tried to figure out where he could have halted this whole thing, but came up blank. He clenched his jaw and re-crossed his arms across his chest, Jack White wailing in his earbuds. _I won’t let love corrupt, disrupt, or interrupt me anymore._


	2. Odie the Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Odie and a beautiful vintage blue Land Cruiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I kind of wrote a whole Sam chapter. Like I said, this thing is pretty much done. Like, 99%. I just need to edit a couple of things, maybe flesh out the case mystery. Okay, so more like 90%. I could really use a beta (hint) FINE yes it’s really more like 80% anyway hope you enjoy and again it’s really Destiel I just got sidetracked because Sam.

Sam had agreed not to speak to Dean and Cas once they boarded the 12-seater in Belize City, to keep up their cover that they were unrelated travelers once they arrived at the resort. Dean got sloppy and grabbed his arm once, on the bumpy landing, but luckily none of the other passengers seemed to notice. Sam smirked. Wuss.

He gripped his duffel on his lap and crossed his long legs at the ankle. He sat in an ancient office chair, upholstered in mustard yellow fabric. It was one of three, sad, mismatched chairs pushed along one wall of the anemically-air-conditioned trailer that served as the “airport” in Dangriga.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and looked around for his ride again. Not that he would miss anyone in a room this size. So far the only other person to remain after the resort transportation van pulled out was the young boy whose sole job was to clear the runway and a middle-aged woman with an elaborate hairdo sitting behind a desk. She steadfastly ignored Sam, focused on her cell phone.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing Sam knew, a horn was beeping outside. He startled up to see a bright blue 1980s Toyota Land Cruiser (the FJ60, if he wasn’t mistaken-oh man, he always loved those) idling outside the door. A series of beeps told him to shake tail, and he slid out of his seat toward the door.

He grabbed for the handle of the truck, higher than normal due to some modified 35-inch tires. When he pulled himself up to slide in the passenger side, he got his first good look at the driver, a young woman with dark brown skin, her shoulder-length black twists covered by a trucker cap. She pursed her lips at him. “Are you Sam?” she asked in a vaguely English accent with a little more something mixed in that he wasn’t able to identify.

He nodded. “I was supposed to meet an Odie” he replied. He thought it was a man’s name. Like the dog in Garfield.

She scoffed at him. “Ah, that’s me, what did you think?” When Sam just regarded her stupidly for a minute she laughed. “It’s short for Melodie. Is this going to be a problem?” She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.

Sam shook his head quickly. “No, I’m just surprised. You never mentioned it. Online.” His mind was racing back to their many late-night typed interactions, some of which had become rather lengthy and personal. He flushed quickly, suddenly embarrassed. Definitely some stuff he wouldn’t have told a woman. Stuff about his family, even Jess.

Odie sighed, putting the truck in gear. “That pretty pink blush–right there” she pointed at Sam’s cheek with one finger, clearly irritated, “is exactly why I never brought it up.”

They pulled through a ramshakle town. The blue SUV rolled slowly past people walking everywhere. The children’s brightly colored pinafores and shorts, their school uniforms, stood out against the jewel green of the mango trees and rust-colored dirt. A fair number of bicycles were also pedaled along the right-hand side of the road. Sam found that fact a bit strange, as he expected a former British colony to drive on the left.

They pulled in past the city center near the beach. “Your brother’s resort is about 20 minutes that direction by foot” Odie said, jerking her thumb to the south. Grab your duffel and come on in. I have very nosy neighbors who will be wanting to know all about the American giant I dragged in.”

Sam pulled a face at her name-calling, but was immediately distracted by Odie’s small pink cottage on stilts with bright yellow trim and a thatched roof. A bicycle leaned against the wall outside, and a surfboard flanked it on the other side of the door. As Sam circled the vehicle to retrieve his luggage, he spotted a hammock swaying between two palms on the beach side of the house.

Sam looked over at Odie, who was unloading bags of gear from the trunk. She paused to distribute some treats to her neighbor children who had gathered around. She ruffled one on the head, smacked another on the butt, and they laughed, circling Sam with curious eyes. The sun was setting behind Odie’s house. Sam realized his mouth was open. He shook his head slightly, in a daze. It was as different from the bunker as night and day.

Odie crossed the threshold, not pausing to see if Sam followed. “Let’s get some dinner started and then we’ll dive into the research.” She bustled about the small kitchen, putting away her goods, washing her hands at the sink. “Restroom’s through there; you can get washed up from your trip.”

When Sam emerged with not only clean hands but a clean face, shirt, and fresh coat of deodorant to boot, Odie met him at the table with fish cooked in foil, potatoes, sliced papaya, and Beliken beers. Sam sat and shook his head slightly at the woman who was regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

“Is this not what American hunters eat?” Odie asked, with more than a hint of teasing.

Sam just raised his Beliken in salute. Odie met his bottle across the table, and over the clink of glass Sam said, “it’s perfect.”


	3. A Blockage in the Heart Chaka-Khan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Cas get a couples’ massage and Dean opens his heart chakra. Or, the author tried to write slow burn UST and it turned into angst #sorrynotsorry

Dean padded in his ridiculous white terrycloth slippers after Cas down a hallway of the on-site spa. They wore matching bathrobes and were full of the breakfast of rice, black beans, fried plantains, and fresh mango that had been delivered to their room. The paperwork they had found in their ‘room’ (which was really a freestanding cabana opening to the sandy beach) disclosed that each couple began their retreat with a ‘relaxing and healing couples massage.’ **  
**

Dean barely had time to glance at the agenda before rolling onto the bed and falling asleep, fully dressed on top of the covers. The Xanax had apparently taken stronger hold than he had been aware. When he awoke at a positively disrespectful hour, the blankets were disturbed next to him, but Cas wasn’t in the bed. Which was weird because Cas usually had to be pried from bed with a tire-iron.

Already awake, Cas had showered and donned his hotel-issued bathrobe emblazoned with an emblem of a jaguar. He was uncharacteristically quiet as they shared breakfast, chatting sparsely about the details they already knew about the case. Dean didn’t mind the morning’s appointment to give their day shape; staying alone in a romantic cabana with Cas was unsettling.

Now Dean was debating which was weirder; staying cooped up with Cas playing boyfriends in a beachside cabana, or getting a romantic couples massage from Kelsi and Brian, their massage therapists.

“Right this way,” said Kelsi, opening the door for them. She had blonde hair and what he pegged as an Australian accent. Belize was a popular destination for ex-pats looking for a Caribbean lifestyle. Dean gave Cas a “not bad” appraising look as they got a look at the posh interior. Natural wood and glowing, low lights surrounded two massage tables covered in soft blankets. Some sort of hippie new age music was playing softly in the background. Dean scoffed externally, while internally admitting it was sort of relaxing. Whatever; he’d never admit in public.

Brian, a large man with dark skin and a local Garifuna accent, asked if they had an allergies, and when they replied in the negative, he fired up some kind of scent thingy that looked like a humidifier. “Lavender oil with bergamot and peppermint” he explained. Dean nodded knowledgeably to Brian’s face but as soon as the massage therapist turned around Dean tried to privately roll his eyes at Cas, who was standing in his fluffy robe, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“Smells much better than Enochian ritual magic” said Cas, nodding at the diffuser. Dean cringed. Here they go. When would Cas learn not to say shit like that in front of normies? Luckily, Brian and Kelsi seemed pretty unflappable.

“We’re going to leave the room while you disrobe and get under the covers on the tables, face down. You can leave your robes on these hooks; slippers go over here,” said Kelsi calmly before leaving the room with Brian, pulling the door shut behind him.

Dean knew this was how “real” massages worked. (He had done some research online because his previous experiences on the road with storefront massage parlors didn’t seem quite relevant to this, much classier, situation.) Nevertheless, getting to this part with Cas in the room felt strangely awkward and intimate. He fingered the demon knife in his pocket, wondering if they were in enough danger to keep it nearby. He settled for stashing it under the mattress of the massage table.

He quickly slipped off his robe, back to Cas, and crossed the room to the table in two quick strides, eyes on the floor the entire time. He practically dove under the covers, and settled onto the warm bed. He peeked up with one eye to see Castiel was already arranging his covers over himself as well. Dean was definitely not disappointed he didn’t get a glimpse of Cas without his robe. Nope. Definitely what he was feeling was relief.

Dean shook his head to himself in exasperation. Way to keep it cool, Dean. He settled his face into the weird circular pillow, staring down at the floor. A few seconds later a knock came at the door. “Come in,” called Cas, seemingly more at ease than Dean. Well, Cas doesn’t get as self-conscious as the rest of us wretched humans, Dean thought, goodie for him. Just a normal day on the job, being a hunter, right? Pretending to be a strained couple getting some much-needed relaxation by getting their nude bodies rubbed down by a couple of strangers. Perfectly normal. For one hysterical moment, Dean wondered who in their right mind had originally conceived of the ‘Couples Massage.’ If he ever met them, they would have Words, Dean thought.

His discomfort quickly abated as soon as the massage began. Brian and Kelsi began a well-practiced professional routine of working detachedly on Dean and Cas’ muscles, and pretty soon Dean forgot all about Cas and just focused on the sensation of release in his tight back and shoulder muscles. Brian put his considerable bulk into ironing out and smoothing knots Dean hadn’t even realized he had, probably from too many miles in the Impala, nights on lumpy motel mattresses, and fights with supernatural baddies. Dean felt his shoulders descend away from their tightly-held position near his ears, melting down his spine. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.

His relaxation was abruptly cut short by a noise startling Dean out of his reverie. A deep groan emitted from the table next to his, and Dean raised his head, alarmed. Castiel lay on the table directly to Dean’s right, and Dean could see Cas’ back, uncovered to the gentle rise below his lower back, gleaming slightly in the low light with the oil Kelsi was using to work her thumbs into the pads of muscle just above Cas’ ass. “Mmmmmm, that feels AMAZING, Kelsi!” Cas rumbled into his face pillow. Dean felt all the blood in his body competing for first place in the race to his dick. He had maybe, once or twice, fantasized about what Castiel might sound like in the throes of pleasure. Here was his sneak peek and it…did not disappoint.

“Is everything okay?’ Brian interrupted. Dean jerked back to awareness of his slack jaw (he hadn’t realized his mouth was open), his tense upper back holding himself up to look at the next table. Dean shook his head. “Yeah, sorry,” and laid back down as Brian resumed his ministrations.

Dean closed his eyes as Castiel continued his very vocal response to Kelsi’s massage. The situation was getting quickly out of hand for Dean, who had always found Cas’ rumbly growl appealing. The problem was, not only was Cas moaning completely un-self-consciously in a way that could only be construed as pleasurable, he was…surprisingly verbal. Cas was not shy about using his big boy words to tell Kelsi exactly what he did and didn’t like, and how much he liked it. “Right there, Kelsi.” “Just a bit harder, please.” “That’s perfect, oh yeah.” All completely innocently, of course. Dean was the one perving on the talk, imagining Cas giving him that kind of direction and detailed feedback in response to Dean’s touch. It was hot as hell, and Dean shifted to relieve the pressure on his now uncomfortable groin. Before things went too far south, his overactive imagination was interrupted by Kelsi.

“If you take the partner yoga massage class, Cas carries a lot of tension in his hands and feet. He’s extremely sensitive there, and on his neck and jaw.”  Dean turned his head to see her demonstrating a stroke along one of Cas’ bare feet, eliciting a moan closer to a cry from Cas as his entire body shuddered on the table. Cas is so fucking sensitive, thought Dean. He quickly dropped his face down through the pillow hole again, face burning, mouth dry. “Yep” he said, “Thanks for the tip.”

Brian, apparently not to be outdone, chimed in “And Cas, that class would really help Dean. He carries a ton of tension in his back and shoulders, all the way to his lower back. Dean’s eyes flew open as Brian scooched the sheet all the way down to the absolute lower limits of his modesty. Using a strong forearm and elbow, Brian made an ironing motion all the way up and down one side of Dean’s body. Now it was Dean’s turn to utter an involuntary cry of pleasure. “What did you say it was you did again?” Brian asked.

“Law enforcement” Dean said gruffly.

“I can tell. You feel like soldiers and firefighters I’ve worked on in the past,” replied Brian. “Strong but not as flexible or balanced as my athletes. You should take the partner yoga massage class with Cas, have him help you stretch it out.” Dean rolled his eyes with the privacy of the face pillow.  

“That sounds nice, Brian, thank you for the recommendation,” Cas managed to interject, politely, between his groans. Dean heard Kelsi tell Cas to turn over and move down on the massage table while she held the blanket to shield his privacy, so Dean knew what was coming when Brian asked him to do the same. The only problem was Little Dean. He knew if he flipped over at this time, he would be pitching a tent too obvious and embarrassing for the poor professionals just trying to do their jobs. Dean heard himself tell Brian, “You know, my back still hurts. Could you work a little longer there?”

Lying face up seemed to elicit fewer vocalizations from Cas, and between that thankful respite and mentally cataloguing every gross monster Dean had ever faced, he was soon ready to flip over, and told Brian so. The massage therapist situated Dean so that his arms were on top of the sheet and stood above Dean’s head. Brian massaged Dean’s scalp and head, face, and neck, until Dean felt himself floating softly on a cloud of nonsexual physical pleasure.

Dean so rarely had anyone touch him. He’d never admit it, but that was one thing he never got enough of-growing up-or now, for that matter. He got the shit beat out of him on the regular, at first by his dad, and then by monsters and assholes. That served as a nice counterpoint to the sex he regularly sought ought in his younger, more reckless years; anonymous encounters with women (and yeah, sometimes men) who would fill his need for physical intensity and pleasure without the demands of intimacy. Now, the only regular tactile human contact he had was gruff, brotherly hugs with Sam, and the too-few, too-short, too-little shoulder grasps from Cas.

With that thought, a pang of longing rose up from somewhere around Dean’s belly, and with practiced discipline, Dean shoved it back down. Brian was now working smoothly and deeply over the muscles of Dean’s chest. Dean breathed down the longing, but the release of the muscles seemed to bring it back up.

Brian administered one particularly deep stroke and Dean felt tears well up in his eyes. Not from pain. At least, not from physical pain. Brian didn’t notice and kept working on Dean’s chest, opening it up while Dean struggled against him to emotionally shut it back down, this longing he worked so hard every day to keep tied up and locked up tight and tamed and dulled and fuck-Dean felt like his heart was actually breaking. The longing need was going to escape and it was going to be a hell of a lot more embarrassing than a stupid erection. Dean finally gasped and let a small noise escape; those less charitable to his ego might have described it as a sob.

Brian stopped abruptly. “Are you ok?” he asked in a low tone. Dean nodded, embarrassed, keeping his eyes squeezed shut so the stupid betraying fuckers wouldn’t start making tears, as they seemed so wont to do. He was holding his breath to squeeze the chest longing-need-lonely feeling back in. Brian did not move to touch him.

“Dean?” came Cas’ voice from the next table, intense. “What’s wrong?” Dean peeked over long enough to see Cas’ scrutinizing, worried face. For some reason that made it worse, and Dean breathed shallowly, trying to get control over his emotions.

“Would you like me to continue?” Dean shook his head no and Brian withdrew respectfully, as Dean choked back another sob, breathing shakily.

“Dean!” Cas flew off his table, leaving a startled Kelsi in his wake, clutching the sheet around his waist as he did so and was at Dean’s side in a second. “What’s wrong with him?” Cas demanded, whirling on Brian. “What did you do to him?” Cas throat and jaw was clenched again, no doubt the cause of the ‘tension’ Kelsi had noted.

Brian lifted his hands placatingly. “It’s completely normal” he pleaded. “Working the muscles often releases pent-up emotions, stress, fear, pain, even trauma. It’s healthy and good to physically let go.” Cas put one hand on Dean’s shoulder. The shoulder. Cas was touching him. Another breath in, and out, and squeeze the chest down, shove the longing down, and Dean was still trying to hold it together, now more for Cas’ sake than his own. Push it away. As far away as he could get it. Time to flip that switch he so often did whenever fear or sadness threatened him. Anger was always easier than hurt, for Dean.

“I’m fine, Cas, just leave me alone,” Dean snarled, pushing Cas’ hand away, ignoring Cas’ drawn brows, pursed lips.

Cas looked at Brian, head tilted as he always did when trying to understand human things. “Why did it happen now, instead of when the massage started?”

Brian looked baffled. “I have no idea. Maybe he finally felt safe enough to let go of those emotions, or maybe the massage released a blockage in the heart chakra.”

Dean barked “I don’t have a blockage in my heart-Chaka-Khans! Just leave me alone,” he spat out, waving his hands for emphasis. Brian beat a hasty retreat, and honestly, who wouldn’t when confronted with peak angry Dean? Kelsi looked at Cas with an apologetic, sad smile, then left the room.

Dean sat up, mindful to keep his sheet tucked around his hips. Cas stood, as per his usual, in Dean’s personal space, but made no move to touch Dean. Dean looked up to meet Cas’ blue eyes, and saw the concern there. Dean opened his mouth to quip and make that look go away on Cas’ face, but the words got caught and he just ended up taking a breath and then closing his mouth, looking more like a goldfish than his ‘cool’ self-image. Cas didn’t break eye contact but every so slowly, as if Dean was a horse Cas was afraid to spook, placed his hand gently on Dean’s back and began rubbing counter-clockwise circles there.

Cas had beat his ass into a brick wall. Cas had cupped his jaw and healed him. Cas had gripped his shoulder. Cas had hugged him firmly like a brother. Cas had clasped his arms around Dean and wrestled the demon out of him. But Cas had never, ever touched him anything close to this; caring and gentle.

The cracks in the dam became a hole, and Dean’s sobs shattered the peaceful whale noises, spa-music groove in the massage room. Dean clung to Cas’ chest like a baby, but Cas just calmly held him. “It’s okay, Dean” said Cas’ voice in Dean’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

Time slowed, and with it, Dean’s breathing slowed down. Whatever stupid chakra opening had run its course and he felt strangely better, lighter, freer, if a little spent. Now he was aware of the rise and fall of Cas’ bare chest under his cheek, Cas’ large hand on Dean’s back, Cas’ barely draped lower body underneath Cas’ taut muscles. Dean breathed evenly again, this time to steel himself to pull away and compose himself. He gave Cas’ shoulder a pat that was more push, trying to regain the ‘buddy’ equilibrium they had established over the past decade. Kind of hard in these circumstances, but Dean was no stranger to denial. “Thanks Cas. I’m good now.”

Cas let his hand drift awkwardly in the air where it had been on Dean’s back seconds before. Cas’ expression was unreadable. “Do you think this has something to do with the case?” He asked abruptly, dropping his hand to his side to pull up his sheet more securely over his hip bone.

“Nah, I think I’m just garden variety cuckoo. Remind me to NEVER get a massage again,” Dean joked, pointedly *not* looking as Cas crossed the room and dropped his sheet, pulling on his robe, his back to Dean.

“Both Brian and Kelsi pushed that partner yoga massage class pretty hard. I think we should follow it up.” said Cas, nonchalantly. “As a lead” he added after a moment’s silence. Cas tossed Dean his robe, and Dean pulled it on while gratefully covered by his sheet. Dean nodded, acknowledging both Cas’ idea, and the robe assist.

“I’ll be in the room” said Cas, whirling on his heel and leaving almost as quickly as he had with his angel mojo back in the day.

Dean felt sad in a way that had nothing to do with his massage meltdown. He felt like there was something he wasn’t understanding with Castiel. He had to be more careful to keep thing, you know, normal. His emotions were clearly getting in the way here. Well, of wherever ‘here’ was. The location of which, Dean wasn’t sure. He needed a map, because the road so far had been pretty damn twisty. What’s the Hallmark card category, Dean wondered, for a celestial being, savior, ally, former enemy, friend, family member who you may or may not want to bang and also be in love with?  

“Fuck my life.” Dean dropped his head into his hands, doing a perfect facepalm. The poor guy didn’t ask to be fixated on by Dean. Jokes about Cas’ obvious loyal devotion to Dean aside, Dean had no clue what, if anything, Cas thought about the subject. Dean had given Cas a million openings, and he’d never taken one. Then again, neither had Dean.

He figured, if it hadn’t happened by now, there probably was a reason, and that reason was either Cas didn’t feel the same way about Dean OR Cas just wasn’t capable of feeling that way about anybody, period. As he once said to Kevin, angels just didn’t have the equipment, so to speak. One thing was clear: this case was going to make it ten times as hard as normal for Dean to stow his crap and do the job. He stood up, set his shoulders tensely again, and headed back to the room.


	4. Work the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Odie work the case and Sam brings up a sore spot...or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I accidentally wrote another Sam chapter. The thing is, he’s a better exposition monkey and also maybe I’m in love with Odie a little bit. Why do you keep talking about my shoulders? LOL, we are all Velma. ANYWAY here’s a long chapter and the next one has Destiel FEELINGS and AWKWARD SILENCES and GROUP THERAPY so if that’s your jam please keep reading I love you all like Sam loves books.

Sam awoke to the sound of the surf. He sighed deeply and raised his head off his pillow on the floor palette Odie had fixed him up in her small living area directly off her kitchen. After ducking in the bathroom, he investigated the tiny cabin looking for her, but it was empty. He helped himself to a bowl of the sweetened coconut rice pudding-type dish he found on the stovetop. Grabbing a mango from a bowl in the center of the metal folding table and a knife, he made his way outside.

He scored a mango half into edible cubes, which clung to the thin green skin until he chewed them off, their sweet juice dribbling down his chin. Odie strode confidently up the beach carrying her surfboard, water droplets on her skin and hair catching the morning sun. She gave Sam a grin that was all white teeth and a big wave with her free hand. Sam waved back and tried not to notice the way her board shorts hugged her strong thighs or the way her yellow bikini top set off her radiant skin.

Sam ducked his head until she was close enough to call to him over the morning waves. “Do all American hunters go to the beach in jeans and boots?” Odie propped her surfboard in its spot along the cabin wall and grabbed a towel from the clothesline.

Sam chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Don’t have many other duds, I guess. This is our first beach trip in a while.” Or ever, he thought. “Plus,” He tapped his boots together firmly where they sat at the end of his crossed legs in the hammock. “It’s sort of our all-purpose uniform. Protect the feet, the skin, layers for different temperatures.” His smile fell a bit. Their lives were not like normal people’s. Sam had a tendency to make himself sad. The downside of being smart, he guessed.

Odie pulled on a graphic tee and gave him a knowing look. “It’s the same here, but you need clothes that won’t get in the way. Loose, sweat-wicking so you don’t dehydrate. Light colors to reflect heat. Flip flops can be lost in a hurry. Sport sandals are better for the jungle.” She jerked her head toward the beach. “Good luck running something down in the sand in those huge clodhoppers.”

Sam made as if he was actually willing to haul himself out of the hammock. “Wanna race? Put your money where your mouth is?”

Odie swatted him with the towel. “I’d hate to humiliate you on your first day. Besides, we have work to do.”

They set up research headquarters at her kitchen table. Odie boasted a premium wifi connection one of her hunter network friends had spliced off the line running to the Stone Jaguar resort where Cas and Dean were staying.

“So, these couples all checked into the resort, and then disappeared on the last day of the couples’ retreat.” Sam summarized. Odie nodded, indicating the proto-murderboard she had rigged up, complete with photos of the couples, their names, and details of their cases underneath it.

“We already had our hunters work with local law enforcement but they’re worthless.” sighed Odie. “They all think the couples were mixed up in drug business in town or kidnapped by Guatamalans near the border.” She tossed her hair disdainfully. “Both theories are ridiculous, of course, but they are eager to write them off because nobody in this part of the country wants to hurt tourism.”

Sam nodded. Made sense, and reminded him of plenty of cases he had worked before. People were pretty much the same everywhere. Willing to turn a blind eye as long as it didn’t affect the status quo.

Odie stood, putting her hands on her hips, pacing in front of the posterboard she had tacked to her kitchen wall. “We also tried interviewing resort employees. They didn’t have any further details. The couples went to the retreat’s final ceremony-a graduation kind of thing. They returned to their rooms, and nobody ever saw them again after that.”

Sam sat back, clicking his pen. “Run through them for me again.” They had been through all of this online already, when he had agreed to come down. A former acquaintance of Eileen’s based in Mexico had connected them. Sam felt a pang at the memory of the brunette hunter, with her sass and bravery and great smile…

“Four couples with no connection I can find. Two in their 50s, one in their 20s, and one in their 30s. One from New York City, one from Sydney, one from rural Alabama, and one from a small town in Northern England. One white couple, one Asian couple, and two mixed-race couples. Three hetero, one same-sex. Two had children; two didn’t.” Odie blew air through her lips in frustration. “It must be opportunity rather than profile.”

Sam agreed, typing on his laptop rapidly. “And the reason we think it’s something supernatural is…” He trailed off. This had been a sensitive topic online. If he was being entirely honest, he didn’t think there was a case here. Maybe the local police were right. Just missing couples in a developing area with higher-than-usual crime.

If he was really willing to look honesty in the face, he’d admit he only agreed to the case to get some beach time and possibly, maybe, just a little part of him wanted to get his brother and Castiel into a couples’ retreat. But Sam was not on trial here.

Odie immediately bristled. “We’ve been over this. It’s too clean. Too neat for humans.” All the couples were found missing the morning they were to check out. Their rooms were undisturbed and locked. All luggage, valuables, and passports remained in place. Nobody saw or heard anything in the night or the morning. No bodies were ever found. They simply vanished.

Sam held a hand out, placating.  “Okay. I believe you.” He didn’t, but Sam was good at talking people down. With patience borne of years dealing with jittery victims and his histrionic brother, he changed tack. “Who are the usual suspects in these parts? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? Shifters?”

Odie gave a weird half shrug. “Yes. And no.” I’ve hunted all of those, but what we get here is a little different. After all, our folklore and indigenous gods are different than what you find in middle America.”

Sam raised his hands over his keyboard again, eager. “Okay, well, I’m okay in Spanish, too. What should I look up? Aztec or Inca?” Odie was silent long enough that Sam looked up to confirm she had heard him. She was doubled over, laughing so hard she wasn’t capable of making sound. She drew in a deep breath and schooled her features.

“Well,” she began in the prim tones of a schoolmarm. “Begin by researching all the lore from Mayan/Mestizo peoples whose cultures were indigenous here. Then add in all the French/Creole traditions of the Garifuna people, those descended from shipwrecks of enslaved Africans bound for the West Indies. Don’t forget the British Hondurans. Then of course the British colonizers themselves. In recent generations the Amish with German-descended lore can be found in many of our farming areas, and our cities are full of Chinese immigrants with their myriad religions.”

Sam pushed back from the table. He realized, of course, how reductive he had been, but he was also frustrated. How would they even begin to pinpoint what they were dealing with here?

He looked up at Odie who was watching him with less mirth now and more wariness. “I’m sorry. That was incredibly stupid. You obviously have been over all of this already, and know more than I even will about your community. What do you need from me? How can I help?”

Odie’s brown eyes measured him, assessing. “First,” she walked over and shut the lid of his laptop with a ‘click.’ “The answer’s not going to be online.” She leaned over him and quirked an eyebrow. “And due to the largely oral culture here, it’s not going to be in one of your books.” She pushed one of the tomes Sam had crammed into his carry-on away from him on the table.

She flopped into a chair next to Sam, sighing. “The reason I wanted a second set of eyes- _experienced_ eyes-” here she cut her gaze to Sam who shifted, uncomfortably. The Winchester brothers were becoming somewhat of elder statesmen as far as hunters were concerned. “-is because I can’t figure it out. It’s…” she pressed her knuckles to her lips, and her gaze fell on a small framed photo on the opposite wall. “It’s not the first case that’s been unsolved here.”

Sam followed her eye line to the photo. A small girl with chubby cheeks and arms clung to a woman in a long skirt with armfuls of jewelry and a long, dark braid. A man with a beard and kind eyes had his arm around her, gazing at the girl adoringly. “Your parents?” Sam nodded towards the picture. They had talked about it a bit online. Hunters were often orphans.

Odie’s lips hardened into a line. She took a deep breath as though to begin a story, then stood abruptly. “I need a drink” she announced, grabbing a worn denim jacket from the hook by the door. She opened the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. “You coming?” She didn’t look behind her. Sam didn’t reply. He just walked past her into the warm night, resplendently clear with a beautiful three-quarter moon.


	5. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas attend an intimacy workshop at the couples’ retreat and unwittingly become the teacher’s pets.

“Welcome to group therapy,” cooed Dr. Lea, her entire look the ‘sexy librarian’ of porno fantasies. Dark reading glasses, dark brown hair pulled into a french twist, suit with a skirt and a silk chemise underneath. Dean quirked an eyebrow at Cas, but Cas just looked back at him, nonplussed. Of course, Cas didn’t get it. Dean guessed the pizza man never delivered to the library.

“In our sessions this weekend, you will be participating in exercises with your partner to foster the three legs of the relationship stool.” Dean coughed, covering his mouth with his fist, to cover up the immature joke  he had been about to make. Dr. Lea continued, pretending not to notice. “Intimacy, Trust, and Commitment. A relationship needs all three to survive and thrive. Perhaps your relationship has all three, but they could be stronger. Perhaps yours is missing a leg, or even two legs are badly damaged. We will do exercises to help you assess where you are in the process and how to grow those relationship legs.” 

Now Dean had to bite his lip entirely, raising his eyebrows. She invited them to divide into couples before continuing with her instructions, directing them about the room to yoga mats with floor pillows that were set up throughout the space.

Cas looked at him balefully. “What?” said Dean, defensively. “You just couldn’t blend in?” asked Cas. “Uh, she’s talking about growing legs and I’m, what, just supposed to leave that hanging?!” Dean realized his joke after the words were out of his mouth and smirked again, but Cas just pursed his lips in annoyance and fell silent.

“Today we will be focusing on intimacy with our partners. Not sexual intimacy, but emotional intimacy, which is harder to achieve in our modern society. We are going to try Soul Gazing, a form of tantra nonverbal communication. You can use this exercise to harmonize your energies, and open your heart space to one another.”

Dean leaned over to Cas and whispered, “Dude, I have no idea what she just said.” and smirked. Cas just gazed disapprovingly at Dean.

“Sit facing one another on the mat, either cross-legged or however is comfortable for you.” Said Dr. Lea, and began walking around the classroom, helping couples adjust. Dean hitched his jeans up his thighs a bit before sitting on the woven mat by their feet, settling his butt on a circular floor pillow with some kind of Moroccan rug look to it. Cas sank to his knees in front of Dean and Dean’s heart did a weird flop inside his chest as he found himself face-to-face with Cas’ crotch. Then Cas settled himself cross-legged opposite Dean.

“Now, you will create an energy circuit with your partner by placing your left palm up and your right palm down. Your partner will do the same, so your palms are touching one another. Dean confusedly tried to figure out these verbal instructions, fumbling hands with Cas for a couple of moments until Cas deliberately grabbed Dean’s wrist and took Dean’s right hand in his, uncurling Dean’s fingers, and placed it, face-down on Cas’ open left palm. Then Cas took Dean’s left hand in his right, avoiding Dean’s eyes. He placed Dean’s left hand firmly up, and covered it with his own right palm. Cas looked up at Dean’s eyes and said “there we go,” and smiled minutely.

Dean’s breath hitched in his chest at the sight of Cas’ icy blue eyes, and refused to think about how hot it had been when Cas took charge that way.

“Next,” continued Dr. Lea, satisfied all the couples were situated, “I would like you to take a moment to attune your breathing to one another. Then I will ring a bell and you will look at your partner in the eyes, without breaking contact. Try to be present in the moment and let any feelings of judgement or distraction simply float away. When I ring the bell the second time, the exercise will be over.”

They’ve done this before, Dean thinks. Nothing to be nervous about. He looked down at their hands, pressed together like pages of a book, breathing deeply, trying to calm his staccato beat of his heart and brain. The bell rang and Dean dragged his eyes up and saw a familiar, perfect, blue sight. This was home.

Understanding passed between them, without any discomfort. It seemed to Dean that they shared a frank recognition, of their history, both individually and shared, and of their natures, complex and immutable. When he looked at Cas like this-without words or expectations, it seemed they were so easily able to reach a mutual understanding. 

It’s when they spoke that words and feelings and history and expectations and desires got hopelessly tangled. Why did things have to get weird? Dean thought; leave talking to the civilians; why can’t we just have this?

“Cas? Dean!” a voice broke Dean’s concentration. He wet his lips, not breaking eye contact with Cas, unwilling to leave that certainty, that comfort. Dr. Lea broke in again: “I rang the bell. The exercise is completed.” Dean nodded, still staring at Cas. Who would look away first? 

Cas, unwavering, still as a statue, hands warm against Dean’s, looked at him inscrutably and Dean felt the chest feeling, the fucking betraying rise of longing press up again, and he. Would. Not. cry. So he looked away first.

Dean took a deep breath as if he had just surfaced from a long submersion underwater. Cas just looked down and to the side, but did not move his hands from Dean’s. 

Dr. Lea cleared her throat and said, “you may have found that exercise uncomfortable or challenging. Perhaps you felt exposed or vulnerable. Perhaps you felt awkward or tense. Hopefully you were able to recognize your partner’s soul and the energy of their life force.” With this she turned to Cas and Dean. “How did you two respond to the exercise?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so soon after their humiliating overstep of the exercise’s time limit. Luckily, Cas smoothly stepped in. 

“Dean has a beautiful soul. It’s the first thing I ever noticed about him.” Dean shot him a disbelieving look, as if to say let’s not lay it on too thick, buddy, but Cas just shrugged back at him with one shoulder, a new human behavior he had recently adopted. 

Dr. Lea beamed at them. “You two have remarkable intimacy. I’d like to explore how those lack of boundaries plays out in other aspects of your relationship.” Dean’s eye roll was almost audible. Dr. Lea went around the room, engaging the other couples in their observations, but Dean’s mind wandered. Instead, he sat in his chair, intertwining his fingers and spacing off, ignoring Cas’ knee inches from his own. 

Intimacy? Lack of boundaries? Him and Cas? All he felt he was made of lately was a series of thinner, more permeable boundaries, arbitrary lines and fences and guidelines he made up for himself to try to delineate the lines of the map between friend and family and whatever this was in his chest, rising, unbidden, against his breaths and anger and jokes and clenching and alcoholic haze and whatever else he could do to fight back the rising tide of need every time he looked into those blue eyes and felt home.

 

 


	6. Use a Condom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to dance and commits microaggressions. Odie gets some backstory and there’s mystery plot development if you’re paying attention.

Sam padded along the single-lane dirt road behind Odie. Her strides were significantly shorter than his, so he consciously slowed his pace. Waves of turmoil rolled off her. Her shoulders were high and squared. Sam stuffed his hands deep in his jacket pockets and gazed up at the night sky, resplendent with stars this far from concentrations of electric lights.

Before he could make a cautious approach to bringing up Odie’s parents again, the thump of dance music disturbed the quiet. Little over a half mile down the road, and she was jerking her chin at him to follow her into an open-air bar with a thatched roof. She made a beeline for the bar and begin chatting with the bald man behind the bar, procuring two Belikens in bottles.

Sam decided to give her space. He drew up a stool ringing the outdoor dance floor. Daddy Yankee was pumping loud, but it was early enough that not many patrons were dancing. Sam took in the mostly local crowd, looking around with a hunter’s curiosity and caution. A woman in a body-conscious yellow minidress caught his eye and made for him.

“You looking to score, white boi?” she said frankly, once within distance to make herself heard over the bass. Sam raised his eyebrows, trying to decide if she meant drugs or sex, but before he could formulate an answer, Odie was by his elbow.

“Neither.” Odie’s pleasant voice had gone flat. She raked the barfly with a contemptuous gaze. “There’s no business for you here. He’s with me.” Odie then put a hand on Sam’s arm, passing him one of the beers with the other. The woman flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and waltzed away, her hoop earrings swinging with the motion.

Odie removed her hand, but didn’t move away. Sam caught a noseful of her scent below him, coconut and something sweet underneath gun oil and the floral scent of her soap, which Sam recognized from her shower. “Staking a claim?” Sam asked, teasing.

“This is a chill spot to have a stout and get down, but there is always an element looking to take tourists for a ride. Stay close. Don’t accept drinks from strangers.” Odie narrowed her eyes at him. Sam rolled his in response.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s roofied me.” he admitted. Odie’s eyes widened in surprise. She looked about to follow that line of inquiry when “Dekole” came on.

“I love this song!” she exclaimed, pulling Sam onto the dance floor. His cheeks burned. One sip of one beer wasn’t nearly enough to make him not resemble a newborn colt on a dance floor. Or at least not enough to make him not care about his flailing limbs. His fears were eased when Odie and a few other patrons fell into a line dance that reminded him of a version of the Electric Slide, only with more hips.

Sam followed along as best he could, cracking up right along Odie every time he turned the wrong way or got off beat. Just as he got the hang of the pattern, which didn’t fall on the even beats of the song, it was over. Sweating and smiling, she pulled him over to where the DJ stood in the corner. It turned out to be Hank, one of her friends from childhood. Hank regarded Sam with appropriately big-brotherly threatening vibes while Odie and Hank debated the latest dancehall releases. Finally, he agreed to play Odie’s request and bid Sam farewell, pulling his headphones back over his long locs.

Sam found himself back at the bar, meeting the bartender, another childhood friend of Odie’s, who poured them each a double shot of 1 barrel rum under her watchful eye. He almost did a spit take of the slightly vanilla-flavored liquor when a shriek pierced the night air.

“AAAaaaaayyyyyyy!” screamed Odie in response, and shot past Sam in a blur. He kicked his jacket back in place from where he had been halfway to his gun tucked in the back of his jeans, going for nonchalant and probably missing, judging by the bartender’s knowing look.

Odie emerged from a tangle of limbs and gestured for another round of 1 barrel. “This is Timea,” she offered. Sam smiled and took the woman’s hand.

“Let me guess,” he smirked. “A friend of yours from childhood.”

Timea was gangly with long sandy hair setting off her light skin. She didn’t break six feet but her dark brown eyes could meet Sam’s directly in an assessing stare and she gripped his hand in a surprising grip. “Where did you find this one?” Timea cut her eyes at Odie, who just threw back her rum, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Sam followed suit. “What do you do, Timea?” He cringed internally. He was out of practice at chatting up strangers at a bar. Questioning witnesses and internet search bars were more in his wheelhouse.

“I’m a public health nurse at the local health clinic.” Timea replied, already shaking her shoulders in time to the music. She and Odie fell into a cluster, Odie’s darker head almost a full foot shorter than Timea’s.

“Oh. That’s cool.” Sam replied to her back. The bartender slid him another Beliken with a look of solidarity. Sam pushed off the bar, wandering through the dancing crowd in search of cooler breeze coming off the ocean. It wasn’t long until he felt a small hand at his back.

Sam found himself in the middle of an impromptu salsa lesson from Timea and Odie, who took turns patiently coaching his flat-footed attempts at finding the beat. Timea lost interest quickly, but Odie clasped Sam’s large hands to hers and caught them to her hips, urging him to feel the beat. Sam felt a flush creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the rum or the warm night.

Hank shifted gears, blending the mid-tempo salsa tune into a relaxed reggae beat. Sam somehow found himself swaying back and forth, arms around Odie, while her chin was tucked against his chest. Understandably, Sam wasn’t paying attention to the verse, which was in Garifuna, but when the hook dropped, Sam couldn’t help bursting out in laughter. A woman’s voice crooned “use a condom” over and over again.

The shaking of his chest startled Odie, who drew back and regarded him with confusion. Sam caught his breath. “Real fun song for the club,” Sam said sarcastically. Odie didn’t share his amusement.

“What’s so funny?” She asked, clearly not getting the joke.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Sam trailed off, lamely. How could he describe his embarrassment at hearing something like STI transmission discussed so frankly in a bump-and-grind song? Behind Odie, he saw Timea distributing condoms to club-goers from a tote bag woven from recycled plastic bags. Two young men grudgingly took two after elbowing each other. Sam saw the woman in the yellow dress slip a handful into her purse.

Odie’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh, I see.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Safe sex is a joke to you.” She raked his tall form up and down. “It’s not my fault your culture’s puritanical hang-ups make you incapable of dealing with women with any maturity.” She grabbed Timea’s passing arm and took the tote bag.

“You Americans think you can come down here and take what fun you want, spreading your disease, then hoard your medicines for those that can afford it.” She shook the bag at him for emphasis. She looked about to say something else, but Timea shushed her with something that sounded suspiciously like “he’s not worth it,” and they turned away, resuming their condom distribution.

Sam’s face was now burning even brighter, from shame. He took a few deep breaths, trying to absorb all Odie had said. Why was he embarrassed about this stuff, for Chuck’s sake? She was right, of course. He was a little uptight, and that had everything to do with his own insecurities. Time to man up.

He found Odie leaning against a beam holding up the bar’s thatched roof. Her jacket was draped across her shoulders, and her eyes were on the tide rolling in across the road, just down the beach. She glanced at him, eyes full of scorn.

Sam ducked his head to catch her eye again. He held up his wallet for her to see. “Hey,” he said softly. “I think this is expired.” He produced an ancient condom from its place in his wallet. He had learned to be prepared, but to be honest, his life hadn’t given him much opportunity to check the freshness of his supplies in quite some time. “Plus,” he added with a shy smile, “I hear this is a terrible place to keep them anyway.”

Odie gave him a long look, then silently passed over a condom from the now-almost-empty tote bag from Timea’s clinic. Sam took it from her like the peace offering it was. He cleared his throat. “You know, when you said online your parents were dead, I assumed vamps or something. I drew a straight line between two points, but I see now that was pretty presumptuous of me.”

Odie’s shoulders slumped from where she had been holding them up by her ears. “My father, Jay Reneau, was Garifuna. He practiced obeah” Her voice was so soft Sam had to strain to hear her even out here away from the speakers and crowd. At his questioning look, she added. “Black magic, or voodoo, I guess you would call it, from the Ashanti tradition.” Her mouth quirked. “Though mostly it was like he was a counselor, helping people with their problems.”

Sam stayed silent, giving her the space to continue. He tried his best to make his body less big, less overwhelming, less threatening. For the millionth time, he wished he wasn’t such a moose. 

“My mother, Elena Panti, was Mayan-descended from the indigenous people here. She was a midwife, and delivered all the local babies. She also helped heal people with local plants.” Another long pause as her eyes fixed, unseeing, on the waves rolling in.

“When she became sick, we didn’t know why.” Odie swallowed. “Many people here began blaming her for spreading it amongst the women in town.” Sam felt his face fall into a grim mask. It made sense, in a way. He remembered the confusion and fear in his own youth when HIV became known in America. People thought you could get it from a toothbrush, for chrissake.

“Others blamed him. Said he was cursing people with black magic. Why he would curse his wife, they could only speculate. Perhaps a punishment for infidelity.” Odie’s face was a short story about what she thought of this theory. 

“Point is,” She finally turned her deep brown eyes to Sam. “They had a lot of enemies. They both got sick eventually. One day they both disappeared. I never saw them again. Did they get kidnapped? Murdered? Or just abandon me?” 

Sam began to protest, then remembered his dad basically did the same, out of a sick sense of protection. “It happened enough, back then,” said Odie, sensing his skepticism.

His head swirled. Could Odie’s parents’ disappearance have any connection to the disappearances at the resort now? The question was halfway to his tongue when he saw her expression, raw with pain. Instead, Sam asked softly, “Is that why you are so tight with Hank and Timea?” He knew a little something about children raising one another, forced to grow up too early.

Odie affirmed this with a nod. “We were part of a generation that was devastated by the virus’ appearance here. Many of my peers didn’t make it. Orphans make good targets for predators.” She gave Sam a significant look.

“That’s how you got into hunting.” Sam stated flatly.

“I always knew about ghosts, from my dad,” Odie dismissed. “But a nest of vamps set up shop in Dangriga, ‘adopting’ orphans and using them as bait.” Odie was a million miles away, so she missed Sam’s wince. He was thinking of Alex, but she was continuing. “That’s how I met Hank, and we took them out together. A year later we discovered a pack of werewolves who were recruiting claiming that turning people would cure them.”

Sam switched seamlessly into nerd mode, curious despite himself. “It doesn’t?”

Odie sadly shook her head. “Something about the virus doesn’t mix well with the supernatural, makes it mutate. Sam’s eyes widened, thinking of the Jefferson Starships. 

Odie was uncorked now, the words flowing out. “Timea barely kept her heart in her chest, but we saved her. Her parents had already been turned and we had to take them out.”

Sam opened his mouth to say he was sorry, but Odie was steel now, continuing her litany. “The bartender, Dominik, we picked up as a youngster. He was being raised by a shifter who took his daddy’s place. He almost chose the fake over the truth. He didn’t speak for months, and then only to me.”

She shook herself and gave a deep sigh. “Don’t.” she began, when Sam opened his mouth. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Just know,” she leaned back against the beam facing him, uncrossing her arms “why it’s not a joke to me. And Sam,” she caught him in her eyes again. “It really shouldn’t be to you, either.” Sam nodded, putting his hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it, eyes closed, for a moment before pushing back off to walk back to her house.


	7. Therapist Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean texts Sam, Cas goes for a swim, and Dean deals with feeling unworthy (surprise, surprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide if this was three short chapters, or one mega-chapter, and it was a transition so it really fought me. You get a mega chapter that really puts the Unresolved and Slow in the UST and Slow Burn. I swear there is smut coming. The boys just really needed some character movement before heading into the next act, which is Angsty as Fuck, y'all.

Dean’s fingers flexed and clenched in time with his jaw. The interminable couples session droned on almost all afternoon. His stomach was rumbling, and he was bored out of his mind. He barely registered the other couples sharing the circle with him. They seemed like the standard, suburban, more-money-than-brains, trying-to-recapture-that-magic types. But what did he know about that life?

Cas had parted with his trench coat and suit in favor of salmon-colored bermuda shorts and a baby blue polo shirt, both of which set off his eyes and skin nicely. He sat with his legs casually crossed, fingers laced around a knee.

He gave every impression of polite attentiveness, but Dean knew he was laser-focused on the details of the other couples, set on solving the case. Dean could crib his notes later. In the meantime, he bounced his leg up and down in his chair and went to his happy place, singing CCR inside his head.

Finally, Dr. Lea ended the session and Dean shot out the door like an extra in an Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out For Summer” music video. He needed a reset.

Even just after the massage and the soul-gazing exercise, Dean was spent. Were this a normal case, he’d blow off some steam by taking Baby for a spin. Get out of town and break the speed limit. Crank some tunes, maybe hit a bar, or preferably hit on someone at a bar.

This vacation was really screwing with his normal coping strategies.

Instead, he made a beeline for he and Cas’ private, ocean-view cabana. He was fully prepared with a defense about touching base with Sam. Cas didn’t pursue Dean, though, a fact which Dean didn’t find disappointing in the least. He flopped on the king-sized bed, freshly made with white linens, and punched out a text to Sam.

_Get me out of here_

Moments later, his phone buzzed in vibration with Sam’s reply.

_What’s wrong do you need help?_

Dean chuckled. How his little brother was the overprotective one, he’d never understand.

_There’s nothing but healthy food and massages and yoga and talking about feelings. I’m dying here_

Another moment, another buzz.

_Yeah, sounds like torture._

Dean opened a game and laid face down on the bed, tapping at the screen. A minute later, another text came through.

_We’re deep in research here. Nothing to act on yet. Maybe just try enjoying yourself?_

Dean furrowed his brow.

_Who are you and what did you do with my nerd brother?_

_Seriously, Dean. It wouldn’t kill you to take a break._

Dean’s furrow deepened and he was still trying to formulate a comeback (he had gotten as far as “your face needs a break”) when Sam texted again.

_Where’s Cas?_

Dean’s eyeballs almost hurt from all the rolling they were doing today.

_I dunno. I’m not his keeper. He’s a free angel._

Dean sent the message before realizing how defensive he sounded.

_Well just remember you’re supposed to be a couple so maybe go do couple things?_

Dean couldn’t resist bickering with Sam anytime, anywhere, so he tapped out:

_We’re supposed to be here because our relationship needs help. Maybe he’s a workaholic who’s never around, and I’m too cool to show him what he means to me._

Dean nodded, satisfied. See? Their behavior was in line with their cover story. Sam’s reply came in two parts.

_wow…_

_that’s a great cover and also totally not at all like any situation I’m aware of in real life._

Dean’s cheeks burned, closing out of the messaging app and his game. He tossed his phone down among the bed’s soft pillows and stomped out the door, in search of Cas. Or a drink. Maybe both. Both was good.

\-----------------------------------------

Cas closed his eyes, letting the water fill his ears, muffling the already subdued sounds of the resort complex. Most couples had retreated to their cabanas for rest or physical congress, but some joined Cas at the luxurious infinity pool.

He liked the feeling of floating on his back, no part of his vessel touching the pool’s tile lining. It reminded him a bit of flying. Not all sensations of a human body were onerous.

The water shimmered turquoise in the late afternoon sun, running gently over the hidden edge overlooking a truly stunning beach view. Cas sighed in satisfaction, regarding his father’s creation.

Cas knew Dean thought him incapable of interacting with other humans without committing serious faux pas. But Cas had learned much over his years of close contact with the Winchesters, and felt proud of his progress. He had come a long way from his first case. Cas remembered with chagrin how he calmly informed local law enforcement about the existence of angels and demons.

When Dean fled to the room (their room, Cas reminded himself, traitorously) Cas chose to let the hunter stew in whatever emotional overload he was experiencing and instead attempt to ‘fit in’ with the couples clustered at the swim-up bar in the pool.

Thus far, Cas had not figured out how to approach them. He instead swam laps and regarded them warily as they loaded up on pre-dinner complimentary cocktails. Cas wrinkled his nose, trying not to think about people drinking and peeing in the pool all afternoon.

Movement caught Cas’ eye. Dean was approaching the land-locked side of the swim-up bar.

Cas took a moment to appreciate Dean’s form. Although Dean had flatly refused to allow Cas to wear his preferred clothing to the resort, Dean himself conceded to the undercover role with a short-sleeved linen collared shirt and leather flip flops but retained his worn jeans. Cas knew this was due to Dean’s embarrassment about his legs, which frankly Cas could not understand. Body shame was simply incomprehensible to Cas. All his father’s creations were perfect in their way; Dean’s more so in its culturally pleasing aesthetic.

Cas was still wondering at this conundrum when Dean’s voice broke through his reverie. “Gimme a 5 barrel sour, please.”

Cas stood in the water. “I’ll have another, as well,” he informed the bartender, indicating his empty glass at the bar. Dean visibly startled. He gave Cas a slow look starting at his face raking down, and Cas suddenly felt self-conscious. He was dripping wet, droplets falling down his face from his slicked-back hair. Cas could feel the beads of water rolling down his chest between his pectoral muscles. Dean’s gaze seemed stuck on Cas’ submerged lower half. Cas didn’t know what Dean was so captivated by. He was just wearing nondescript, mid-length black swim trunks, and the view of his body would surely be wavy and distorted from the water.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas said across the bar. Dean licked his lips and looked back up, realizing Cas was staring at him.

“One panti rippha” announced the bartender, sliding a beachy orange drink towards Cas. Cas lifted it at Dean in salute.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Dean, “A panty ripper?” Cas nodded. “I find these extremely pleasurable, Dean.”

Dean gave every appearance of wanting to comment but restraining himself. Instead, he walked over the pool’s edge so he could reach across and knock his glass into Cas’ in a toast. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” Dean said, before taking a swig of his own drink, a version of a whiskey sour with rum.

Since they couldn’t discuss the case openly here, Cas decided to bolster their cover and engage Dean in discussion like a couple. “Have you gone for a swim yet, Dean?” Cas asked, taking a sip of his own sweet drink. “The water feels very nice.”

Dean gave him a long look. “I thought we were here to work” Dean paused, letting the word hold emphasis. “On our relationship. Remember?”

“Of course.” Cas replied, a bit shorter than he intended. “You’re allowed to have some fun, too, though.” He wasn’t quite sure if he was still pretending to be Dean’s partner or just stating his own beliefs. Dean should feel the wonderful flying freedom of swimming. Acting was just a form of lying, and lying was exhausting.

Dean looked away, grim. “No, Cas. I’m not.” He drained his drink. “Allowed to have fun.” he continued, pushing away from the pool’s edge. Green eyes caught his own. “We have responsibilities, remember?”

Cas clenched his jaw. Dean couldn’t possibly be trying to imply that Cas swimming for a few minutes on a case would be responsible for the death or disappearance of another couple. That logic was extremely flawed.

“You’re not responsible for everyone and everything, Dean.” Cas meant that. Humans were dying every second of every day, all around the world. War, disease, accidents, and the natural failings of biology were as predictable as the sun rising and setting.

Dean scoffed, but Cas shot out a hand across the pool wall and grabbed Dean’s wrist. Insistent, he continued. “I know how you feel. Sometimes it seems as though human suffering is the only true constant in this world. But that just means that if you have a chance at some joy you should grasp it while you can.” Dean’s mouth fell open.

“Whoa,” a woman in a straw fedora and red string bikini swam up behind Cas. “That’s deep. You guys always flirt with each other like a graduate ethics seminar?” She snaked an arm around her husband, Jason, a tall man Cas recognized from the group therapy session.

Dean grabbed the interruption like a lifeline and was soon chatting with Jason and Lana like old friends. Cas smiled and exchanged pleasant chatter, all the while listening and observing for clues. He made no real conversational contribution except to point out a beautiful rainbow that appeared over the beach’s edge, where the river ran from the jungle out to sea. The two couples remarked on it seeming out of place, in the absence of rain this sunny afternoon.

The rainbow faded but was soon replaced with a pastel painting of the sunset over the waves. This picturesque view provided the backdrop for a romantic candlelit dinner.

Each couple had a private table on the beach, complete with teak chairs and white tablecloths. The resort was quite casual, so Cas simply threw a t-shirt on to dine in his swim trunks.

Playing the part of a devoted boyfriend, Cas pulled out Dean’s chair, which earned him a glower for his trouble. It seemed as though Dean was always ready with a reminder of his feelings on romantic relationships with men any time Cas ever required one.

Cas pushed aside his disappointment and draped his napkin across his lap while Dean launched into a litany of caustic comments about the menu. It included foods that were both foreign to Dean and rather elegant in their ingredients and presentation, so of course Dean was threatened by and dismissive of them, making predictable demands for a burger.

Therefore, Cas didn’t even have to fake his impatience when their waiter approached the small table. Cutting smoothly over Dean, Cas confidently ordered for both of them. After their waiter left, Cas shut down Dean’s sputtering protests with a firm “just because something is fancy doesn’t mean it can’t taste good, Dean. Get over it.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. Cas noticed, simply as a neutral observation, nothing more, how the candlelight illuminated golden flecks in his green eyes.

When their food arrived, Dean resumed his protestation about the charcoal-grilled salt-cured pig tails (probably because they were served with a cabbage salad that immediately raised Dean’s ingrained suspicion of any and all vegetables). Cas cut that off at the pass by simply picking one of the juicy morsels up in his fingers and extending it towards Dean’s mouth, his intent clear.

Dean clamped his mouth shut. Well, at least that stopped the complaining. However, Dean did not seem inclined to open his mouth again to let Cas feed him, so Cas simply raised one eyebrow, attempting to infuse the expression with all the command he could muster. Dean’s eyes went soft and his lips parted, accepting the bite from Cas. His eyes fell closed as his tongue briefly made contact with Cas’ fingers.

“Do you like it?” asked Cas, a little prematurely as Dean was preoccupied with chewing.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah.” Dean’s tone was belligerent. “I do. Fine. You win.”

Cas tilted his head, puzzled. “It’s not a competition, Dean. I like burgers, too, if you’ll recall. I just hate to see you not enjoy nice things because you feel like they don’t fit your self-image.”

Dean threw his fork down on his plate with a clatter (he had been reaching for more BBQ pig tails). “Okay, Cas. That’s enough. This retreat is a bad influence on you. Just because you go to one therapy session doesn’t make you a goddamn shrink, ok?”

Cas ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m not trying to ‘shrink your head’” Cas pulled out the finger quotes for emphasis, fully frustrated. “I’m just saying you’re almost forty years old. Your dad’s been gone for quite a while now. Maybe it’s time for you to stop letting his opinions and preferences run your life. Did you ever stop to think about what you like? What you want?” _What you deserve?_ That part he left unsaid, certain Dean wouldn’t be able to hear it.

Cas ended his rant, breathing hard. Anger rose to his surface rarely, but when it did, it always surprised him in its intensity. It also seemed particularly prone to emerge in matters relating to Dean.

Dean’s body tensed. Cas prepared to resign himself to another occasion of being left alone as Dean stormed away. But Dean surprised him. The hunter took a deep breath through his nostrils and released them, meeting Cas’ eyes again. “I like this food, Cas.” He lifted one off the plate with his hand, popping it his mouth, a shade of his smirk appearing. “I’m glad you ordered these."

Cas checked subtly to see if their tense exchange had attracted notice from the other couples, but they all seemed blissfully locked in intimate conversation. After finishing their meal, Cas walked Dean back to their bungalow. He could feel the eyes of the other couples on them, so he made a split decision and slipped his arm around Dean. After initially tensing up, Dean actually leaned into it, giving every impression of comfortable rapport.

Cas dropped his arm once they rounded the corner of the sun-warmed concrete pathway to their bungalow, safely out of sight of the other vacationers. Dean actually stumbled a step. Cas hadn’t realized how fully Dean had leaned into him, and missed Dean’s body’s warmth against his.

\--------------------------------

Dean covered his loss of balance by tripping jauntily in the door of their bungalow. He froze in the doorway. “Wow.” he said, voice flat. “They really lay it on thick here.” Staff had strewn the bed with fresh tropical flowers. A bucket in a stand held a bottle of champagne in ice.

Cas peered around Dean’s shoulder to get a good look at the room. “They certainly fulfilled the checklist for stereotypical romance,” he noted.

“Oh shit!” Dean exclaimed. Between the post-flight Xanax haze and his earlier text flurry with Sam, he failed to note a really important aspect of the whole romantic cabana setup.

“No TV?!” he wailed. “How am I supposed to fall asleep?” Dean relied on sheer physical exhaustion or the drone of bed television to lull him to sleep. Just another thing about this case that had him off balance, out of his element. Dean made for the champagne. “Well, there’s always booze.”

Cas pinned him with a smitey glare. “You do realize alcohol actually disrupts quality sleep?”

Dean protested, “Yeah, but at least it knocks you out.” But he dropped the bottle back in the bucket. “OK, then, Dr. Oz. What do you suggest?” he asked, hands on his hips.

Cas replied, “there are a number of bedtime routines proven to enhance sleepiness. Physical exertion would have helped. You should have swam with me today.”

“Yeah, ‘told you so’s aren’t helpful, Cas” Dean grumbled.

“Warm baths, low lights, calming music or white noise, sexual release-” Cas continued, ignoring Dean’s startled sputter.

“Fine! Okay, I get the picture. Warm bath it is.” Dean grabbed his stuff and made a beeline for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder “Just for a bath! Not for the other thing!” He hurried through his nighttime ablutions and emerged fresh from the tub some time later, warm, but no less awake.

Of course, Cas didn’t sleep, so he was sitting awkwardly in a chair by the bed. He had cued up some streaming classical music on his phone, Dean noticed, and the lights in the room were off except the bedtime lamp. Cas was nothing if not helpful.

Dean flopped down on the bed, crawling quickly underneath the covers in his t-shirt and gym shorts, chosen particularly for this shared sleeping situation and asked “Are you just going to sit there all night and watch me? I told you, that’s creepy as hell.” Every alarm in his head went off, but somehow Dean found himself patting the bed next to him. “C’mon, man. I don’t bite.” Dean flicked back the blanket on the other side.

Cas paused a moment, then set his phone down, slowly unfolded himself from the chair, and laid alongside Dean. Dean rolled onto his side, back to Cas. He could feel Cas settling in, folding his hands on his chest.

Dean had never felt less tired in his life, all his senses on high alert. The problem was, Dean wasn’t what you would call a deep sleeper. Never in his life would he touch someone in his sleep and not startle awake instantly. But Dean sure was imagining it: What if he drifted off and awoke in Cas’ arms, snuggled warm against his chest?

He wanted to ask Cas if he would touch Dean. Maybe a bro-appropriate shoulder rub, or some nice platonic spooning? Dean really couldn’t tell if Cas would spot the subterfuge, and if he did, if he would just play along for Dean’s sake.

Dean balled his fists, fighting the urge to roll over, scoot closer so any part of his body was touching any part of Cas’. He had felt the desire to touch itch his fingers before, but never this strongly.

If he made an overture, how might Cas respond? Confusion, pity, rejection, and passive acceptance all seemed equally probable to Dean. Enthusiastic reciprocation did not.

Dean sighed and listened for Cas’ even breaths. Focusing on the soft classical music, he quieted his racing thoughts, and was eventually overtaken by sleep.


	8. A Matter of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas turned wide, steely blue eyes to Dean “You have significant trust issues, Dean,” he said in a completely un-self-aware too-loud voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Freud voice* We seem veeee-ry close to a breakthrough. Tell me how that makes you feel?

Saturday dawned. Another day, another group therapy session.

“Today, we’re going to discuss trust.” began Dr. Lea, her most serious face on, peering at each of the couples in turn over her reading glasses. “Your relationship may suffer from a lack of trust if you or your partner struggle with the following.”

Dr. Lea stood and crossed to a whiteboard at the side of the room, and began writing her list as she spoke. “A total lack of intimacy or lasting relationships due to mistrust, several intensely dramatic and stormy relationships in a row or at once, thoughts of suspicion or anxiety about friends about family, belief that others are deceptive and malevolent.”

She capped the whiteboard marker and walked back into the center of their circle. “When mistrust plays a large role in a person’s life, past disappointments or betrayals may be the root cause. Mistrust is a valid and reasonable response to feeling betrayed or abandoned.”  

She turned to gaze at each of them levelly. “But,” she continued, “when feelings of mistrust are pervasive, they can adversely affect your life, resulting in anxiety, anger, or self-doubt. Trust issues often arise from childhood experiences. A person who did not receive adequate nurturing, affection, and acceptance, or who was abused, violated, or mistreated as a child will often find difficulty in establishing trust as an adult.”

Cas turned wide, steely blue eyes to Dean “You have significant trust issues, Dean,” he said in a completely un-self-aware too-loud voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. Again. “No shit, sherlock. Also, thanks for sharing that with everyone.” He said sarcastically.

Cas flinched. Dean could tell Cas hadn’t realized he was being hurtful. Dean softened and indicated the rest of the group. “Go on, doc, sorry about the outburst.”

Dr. Lea lowered her glasses and looked over them at him. “Actually,” she said, “that’s a good place for us to begin. Dean, if trust is an issue in your relationship, how does that manifest with Cas?”

Dean immediately froze. He had no idea what to say that would make sense in the context of their cover story. He remembered what they discussed about sticking as close to the truth as possible. “Cas leaves when I need him. He’s not always there. I’m always worried he’ll be running off again.” he blurted out in a rush.

Cas looked at Dean curiously, head tilted.

Dr. Lea regarded Cas. “Is that a valid fear on Dean’s part?”

Cas took a breath and rubbed his hands on his pants. “No. I mean. Yes, sort of. It used to be. But not for ages now. I thought I’d made my priorities clear. I always. . .I’m always there when Dean needs me” he finished lamely.

Dean shook his head, real anger starting to bloom. “C’mon man. You know that’s half-assed. How many times have you cut and run when I needed you most? “

Dr. Lea cut in before things could get too heated. “Gentlemen, with your permission? This is exactly what I was talking about. Even in couples like yours, with such obvious intimacy and passion, if trust isn’t there, the whole relationship suffers.”

Dean audibly scoffed at “passion.” He wished. Interesting that she would think that, considering they’ve barely touched. Except for the occasional shoulder touch. Hug. Fistfight. Bedsharing. Whatever; that last one wasn’t touching. Not really.

Dr. Lea turned to Cas. “Cas, do you have any trouble trusting Dean? Or is he the only partner in your relationship struggling with trust?”

Dean relaxed into his chair, folding his arms. At least he knew he was completely, 100% true-blue friend to Cas. No problems there.

Cas said quietly, looking at the floor: “Dean’s friendship means everything to me. I am always on edge, worrying I will do something- _ anything _ -to alienate him.”

Dean looked over at Cas in surprise. Cas looked so small in that moment, admitting something so real. Dean had worried for so long about hiding his own feelings from Cas that he hadn’t considered that Cas might be worried about upsetting him in return. Dean was chewing on that when Dr. Lea spoke again.

“It sounds like it’s hard for you to express yourself openly and honestly with him.” Cas nodded. “Why don’t you tell him how you feel right now?” she said, gently. “We can all learn from your example. To grow trust we have to share our vulnerability. We all agree we won’t laugh, scoff, or argue with our partner when they do this, okay? Thank you for demonstrating, Cas.”

Dean barely heard her little speech over his own panic. What the fuck was Cas going to say? Would it be real, or just part of their cover story? 

Dean clenched his fists and jaw, and looked up at Cas from under his eyelashes, both dreading and desiring Cas’ answer. His heart beat in his chest so loudly he could feel it in his ears.

Cas arranged his body neutrally, sitting with legs open, hands on his knees. But his face softened, then hardened again, and from Dean’s many years of experience reading Cas’ micro-expressions, he could actually  _ see _ the effort Cas put into pulling back. 

Distant, face opaque and unreadable, eyes focusing imperceptibly to the left of Dean’s, Cas said: “Dean. I need you.” Dean’s mouth quirked a half-frown in annoyance. That little shit, throwing his own words back at him. “Your friendship means everything to me. I will be here for you no matter what.”

Dean’s heart resumed its normal rhythm again. Cas’ revelation may have been kind of a nothingburger, but at least it wasn’t what Dean had dreaded. Or hoped? He seriously didn’t know anymore. 

He hadn’t exactly missed that Cas was holding something back, but maybe that was just Cas trying to preserve their cover, and hoping to act convincingly couple-like without overdoing it. The answer seemed to please Dr. Lea, though, who now went around the room repeating this exercise with all the couples.


	9. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets hurt. Twice. Odie nurses him, but she might be a witch? Also there's clues! And Dean isn't the only Winchester dealing with self-esteem issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently making writing promises is a terrible jinx, because I promptly got super sick for the last two days. I'm recovered and posting two chapters today. This one is Sam/Odie and mystery/case development. Let me know what you think of Odie!

 

The roar of the wall of water drowned out Sam’s jubilant cry at finally,  _ finally _ , popping up on the surfboard. The tang of saltwater on his tongue reminded him of his fundamental tie to the ocean as the source of all life. He skimmed along, letting his body tell him what to do. Sam felt like he was born for this.

He paddled back to Odie’s huge grin, all white teeth and sparkling eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to stand up at all this first time out” she called when he was close enough. “It’s harder sometimes, for tall guys. My board’s probably all wrong for you.” 

Sam tugged it out of the water, lugging it toward her. He was exhausted from his repeated failed attempts and the sheer emotional rush of connecting with the ocean’s raw power. He was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

“But you took to it like, as they say, a duck to the water.” Odie slapped him playfully on the arm. Sam ducked his head, bashful. 

“Probably just ‘cause I had such a great instructor” he deflected. Sam sprawled next to Odie on the beige sand. It was damp and still cool in the early-morning dawn.

“Uh huh” she replied, unimpressed. “I think I’ll try for one or two more before we lose the waves.” Odie rose, hands flying back and forth across her thighs, dislodging wet sand in a spray that had Sam shielding his eyes. 

Sam found himself watching Odie’s back, taut as it arched into the ocean’s pull. Her lovely waist tapered just so above her hips as she poised to pop up on the board. Sam quickly looked away, swallowing. 

What was wrong with him? He wasn’t  _ Dean _ , for chrissakes. Not a ‘girl in every port’ type of guy. Nosiree. It’s just...maybe it had been a little while. And also, there was something special about Odie. She was tough, like Eileen, sarcastic like Amelia, smart like Jess. But even more, something different from all those past women. Something uniquely  _ her _ . Sam couldn’t figure it out. And he didn’t like not knowing the answers.

Sam decided to distract himself by swimming near the shore. He had only waded in to knee-height when he felt something brush against his leg. Sam, born and bred in a landlocked state, cringed at unknown underwater touches, but assumed it was seawood until he felt a sharp, shooting pain run up his leg. 

“Argh!” he cried, loudly enough to attract Odie’s notice over the waves. She rushed over immediately.

“I think a jellyfish got me” he gritted out, limping toward the shore. Odie grimaced in sympathy, switching her board to her opposite arm, letting Sam lean on her the short distance back to her house. 

She shoved him down into the hammock, ordering him “stay here.” Sam laughed grimly. He wasn’t going anywhere quickly with the feeling of a hot iron pressed into his leg. Sam had been through some shit, but apparently jellyfish stings ranked on a new level of the pain scale. 

Odie returned in the blink of an eye with a bowl and a bag. She dropped the bag by the hammock and bypassed Sam for the ocean, filling it with saltwater, much to Sam’s confusion. He was still formulating the type of smiley face a doctor might use to express the pain he was feeling when she returned. 

“Just lie back.” Odie was calm, in charge, as she gently examined his leg with gloved hands, picking out jellyfish tentacles Sam hadn’t even realized were clinging to him. Then she dipped a clean washcloth in the saltwater. 

Sam tensed. “Uh, won’t salt hurt more?” 

Odie gave him a gentle smile. “Believe it or not, fresh water can make a jellyfish sting worse.” She cleaned his reddened, blistering leg with the cloth, then reached for a bottle of vinegar from her kitchen. 

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Shouldn’t you, um, I mean...I could...I heard,”

Odie giggled. A full-on, girlish, giggle. “You watched  _ Friends _ , huh?” She sloshed the vinegar over the wound. “Peeing on a jellyfish sting’s great for getting a bacterial infection in the wound. Otherwise, it’s useless.” She procured a tin from the bag. “My dad’s formula” she explained, dabbing a green, oily, smelly ointment on Sam’s leg. His contorted face relaxed instantly. 

“Oh my God, what is  _ in _ that?” he asked, groaning in relief. 

“Secret family recipe,” she replied, wrapping a cloth bandage around his calf. Her fingers brushed his leg hairs, raising goosebumps all over Sam’s wet skin. He cleared his throat to break the moment. 

“Thanks. I can’t imagine how much pain I’d be in if you hadn’t acted so quickly.” Odie cleaned up the scattered supplies and trash surrounding the hammock. 

“It’s my job.” she replied. “I mean, hunting doesn’t pay the bills.”

Sam nodded. “You work with Timea at the clinic?”

Odie shook her head, twists flicking salt water back and forth. “I’m not that kind of clinician. I do a bit of what my mom and dad did. In my own way.” She indicated the tin. “Make remedies from local plants.” She gave him a careful look. “Help people who have problems.”

Sam peered at her, trying to decode what she was trying to tell him. “Obeah?” he asked.

Odie gave a shy shrug. “From what you said online, you’ve been known to cast a spell or two.”

Sam barked out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, whatever you do,  _ do not _ under any circumstances say anything like that in front of Dean. He hates-”

Odie cut over him. “I remember. You told me. He hates witches!”

Sam grinned at her. “Okay, did you just finish my sentence?”

Odie threw a towel at him. “You’re too predictable, giant. Get cleaned up so we can follow Dominik’s tip.”

\--------------------------

Sam had never missed being soulless as much as right now. His arms burned with exertion. His fingertips hurt from grasping cracks in the slick, moss-covered rocks. His legs shook uncontrollably, calves protesting at the steep vertical climb.

At least without his soul, he found plenty of time to work out. Sam had never achieved the same level of physical fitness he enjoyed at that time. What he wouldn’t give for his peak ripped body right now. Soul or not.

Odie showed no signs of strain, clambering easily up the wet stony path to the top of the 1,000-foot waterfall nestled in the nearby national park. Odie explained that Belize had much protected jungle, thanks to the government’s commitment to eco-tourism. 

Loose lips from couples retreat attendees who made their way to the local nightclub clued Dominik into the location of Dr. Lea’s secret “graduation” spot. Sam and Odie now hiked their way up to the hidden pool that lie below the waterfall. 

Earlier in their trek, Odie and Sam had exchanged boastful and embarrassing hunting stories. Scars were compared, and Odie won, due to a long keloid scar she had on her torso from the aforementioned encounter with Timea’s werewolf-mutant parents. Sam had actually noticed it when she was surfing, but hadn’t felt confident enough to ask the backstory.

Now, Sam was panting, out of breath, and couldn’t maintain banter. He was about to tap out for mercy when Odie suddenly halted in front of a red, peeling tree. 

“Hold on.” she said, procuring a small bag from her fanny pack. “I’m going to collect some bark from this tourist tree.”

“Tourist tree?” Sam asked.

Odie playfully nudged him with an elbow. “It’s skin is red and peeling. Like yours.” She poked Sam with a single finger on his nose, which, due to an unfortunate sunscreen oversight while surfing, was indeed red and blistered.

“Did you just boop me?” Sam asked around his mouthful of trail bar he had crammed into his mouth. He needed quick energy, stat.

Odie ignored him, steadfastly filling a small bag and sealing it carefully before depositing it in her trail pack. 

Sam followed it with his eyes. “Is that for, like, magic?” he asked, swigging water from his bottle clipped to his own pack.

Odie narrowed her eyes at him. “No, it’s an antidote to a plant around here, similar to your poison ivy.” She stomped off ahead of him on the path, not waiting for him to catch up. “Based on your luck with the jellyfish, I figure it’s only a matter of time before you get the rash from the chechen tree and I have to treat you for that, as well.”

Sam grinned, and scrambled to catch up. “Always looking out for me,” he called after her back, grabbing the nearby knotted rope that had been affixed for leverage along the hike. He couldn’t tell, but it looked from her back like Odie was smiling.

An exhausting twenty minutes later, they crested another outcropping of rocks and pulled themselves up over the edge of a clearing in the rainforest. Sam’s jaw dropped open.

A gorgeous waterfall spilled crystal clear water through a veil of green trees. Above him, monkeys scampered along vines. Birds called out to one another, announcing their arrival. A still, blue pool of water spread out in front of him. And above it all, a gorgeous, perfect rainbow, all its colors vivid against the azure sky.

Sam breathed out, unable to speak. He felt Odie at his elbow. She didn’t break the silence, either, and they simply stood, enjoying the tranquility of the moment together.

Finally, Sam reluctantly suggested they look for clues. Odie and Sam hiked the entire perimeter of the pool and ventured off the trail in each direction. Sam excitedly called Odie over to examine some long claw marks marring the stone wall of the tall waterfall. They were too long to be a werewolf. Odie just pursed her lips and suggested jaguars, though. The beautiful spotted predator was doing just fine in this national forest, despite its threatened species status.

Otherwise, they couldn’t find anything shedding light on the missing couples. Sam was surprised to not even find hiking trash or litter, but Odie proudly informed him all Belizeans took the care of their shared land very seriously. Overall, the waterfall was beautiful but uninformative to the case. 

So Sam didn’t even feel a little guilty when Odie stripped off her tie-dyed t-shirt and suggested a dip in the pool. After all, he may as well take his own advice to Dean, and have some fun. A swim sounded refreshing and cool after the grueling climb to get all the way up here.

Sam was hiking in his board shorts, so he simply pulled off his boots, socks, pack and t-shirt, and cannonballed in, spraying Odie with a whoop. She was still wearing the board shorts and bikini top she had surfed in. Opting to leave her sport sandals on, she only had to ditch her tee and waist pack. She quickly followed Sam in, giving his cannonball some stiff competition. 

She popped up and spat a stream of water at him, laughing at his half-hearted protests. The water was perfectly cool and so clear Sam could see the rocks lining the bottom. He couldn’t touch here, toward the center, and gave a few long strokes, stretching out his abused muscles.

“Do you ever think about leaving the life?” Odie’s question cut through Sam’s good mood like a steel knife. He snapped his head up to where she tread water, a few feet in front of him.

Sam searched her face. “You’ve known me for two days and managed to nail down the central conflict of my life?” 

He really was only half joking. She didn’t reply, so he filled the silence. “But yeah, I did. Twice. I went to college, and you already know about Jess.” Odie acknowledged this with a sympathetic nod. “And the second time was after the second time my brother died. Or was it the third…?” Sam caught Odie’s look and shook his head. “Nevermind. Anyway, it never worked out. This is my life. I realize that now.”

Odie sighed, floating onto her back, staring up at the rainbow-creased sky. “Maybe it would work out if they knew the real you; the whole you. Have you ever tried to make a life with someone like that?” Her words hung in the air, suspended like her form in the water. “I did. With Hank.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. He was curious, despite himself. He knew Odie and the DJ hunted together. “Wow. No offense, but my dad always said don’t shit where you eat.” 

Odie rolled onto her front, clearly offended by the look on her face. Sam rushed to continue. “I mean, hunting is so dangerous. People get hurt and die, Odie, and I don’t know if I could do it worried about a partner at the same time.” Sam pushed onto his own back, too uncomfortable to look her in the face. On some level, he knew there was another conversation happening here.

Odie went back to treading water, her graceful, strong arms pushing the water forward and backward. “Nah. I mean, if I had any boyfriend he could get hit by a car. Have a heart attack during sex. Step on a nail and die from bacterial infection. Besides, that’s not what broke up Hank and me. He was just a cheater.”

Sam turned his head to one side to look at her. “Okay, one: you have a morbid imagination. And two: Hank is a brave man if he thought he could cheat on you.” Odie’s mouth dropped open in indignation and Sam hastily added “and stupid! A stupid man, okay?”

She splashed him, but a smile played around her lips. She jerked her head toward the waterfall and swam that way. Sam followed without question.

Odie disappeared under the thundering spray of white water. Sam ducked through it and found a small, protected enclave underneath the waterfall. It was almost quieter under here, and darker. Sam could touch here, and gratefully stood on the stones lining the pool’s bottom. He was tired after treading water for so long.

Odie apparently had the same goal in mind, but wasn’t quite tall enough. She dipped down to touch her toes to the pool’s base, but the water covered her nose. She bobbed back up, resignedly treading water again. “It was worth a try,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to get out yet.”

“Hey,” said Sam, taking her by the arm. “Here. Just…” Sam grasped Odie’s other arm, and she got the idea, resting both of her hands on his forearms. Her fingertips were warmer than the water, and so soft. She buoyed gently in front of him. Sam continued their conversation without interruption.

“Yeah, but even if I found another hunter, I don’t know,” Sam looked through the rushing wall of water. “Sometimes it feels like we’re not doing any good. We fight, and we fight, but we never really get rid of the supernatural.” Sam bit off the bitter regrets he felt like listing. The responsibility of turning down the British Men of Letters. The heavy burden of the job that lie ahead.

Odie’s hands slid up his arms to rest on Sam’s shoulders. She was close enough that Sam felt her breath on his neck as she said, “well, doctors know people will always get sick and some will die, but they still go to work to reduce suffering. Police know there will always be crime but they patrol neighborhoods each day to help victims. Even the sanitation worker knows he will have more trash to pick up again tomorrow. But they all still do their jobs. Because it is good and honorable work.” Odie cupped a hand to the side of Sam’s face, pulling his eyes down to meet hers. “You are a good and honorable man, Sam Winchester.” Odie stated it firmly, as if it were a fact. As if Sam deserved the look she was giving him. She tilted her chin up, letting her lips fall slightly open, eyelashes fluttering closed.

Sam panicked. “Melodie,” he began, not knowing what he intended to say. He took a hasty step back, jerking out of her grip, and felt a sharp stab under his heel.

“Shit!” Sam exclaimed. Odie, confused, looked down and he followed her line of sight to his foot, a thin ribbon of blood blooming visible in the clear water below. “I cut my foot on something.”

Odie dove under the water. She bobbed up seconds later with something in her hand. Pulling him by the hand, she led Sam to the pool’s edge where she once again ordered him to stay put while she obtained supplies. 

While she swam back to her pack, Sam got a look at the item Odie retrieved from the water. It was a broken shard of black pottery, with what were clearly human-made markings on it. When Odie returned, she rinsed, treated, and bandaged his foot in awkward silence. Sam could have done it himself. He knew enough about first aid. If he was honest with himself, he enjoyed being cared for. 

“What do you think?” Sam indicated the pottery shard, wincing as he pulled on his socks and boots.

“I think you should have worn sport sandals like I told you to.” said Odie, no hint of her earlier playfulness in her tone. She flicked her eyes to the pot. “Broken vessels can be an offering.”

Sam nodded. “So now we just figure out who the offering is for, and that’s what’s taking the couples?”

Odie wavered a hand in front of her. “I really don’t think we should take it with us. If it’s an offering we don’t want to make her-or it-angry.” Odie cut her eyes sideways to see if Sam had noticed her slip. He had, but he also had a damn good poker face. He just agreed, and snapped a pic of it for reference. Odie reverently placed the broken, black clay back in the water before pulling him away, making small talk about dinner and research. Her tone was light, but Sam noticed the dark look she gave backwards at the waterfall as they rappelled down the rocks using the knotted rope. 


	10. Hip Opener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles to keep it together at couples yoga with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a switch in POV coming up so I decided to split into two chapters.

“The only thing we know for sure is whatever it is, probably goes down after graduation so you’ve just got to make it to that. Whatever you do, make sure you play the perfect couple through tomorrow afternoon, okay?” Sam’s recorded voice was staticky and tinny over the line. Dean didn’t have a lot of bars at the Stone Jaguar Resort. He flicked off voicemail and headed to the yoga studio, words Dean thought he’d never say, even in his head.

The couples were all gathered near their yoga mats, while Dean stood alone. He looked around, irritated. Was Cas going to stand him up? Talk about humiliating. The only single guy in a partner yoga class. Yep, that would track with his life to date.

Just as Dean’s insecurity threatened to overwhelm him and he prepared to flee from the class, Dean caught sight of Cas rushing through the door with an apologetic look gracing his features.  

Dean’s jaw dropped; Dean had worn regular athletic shorts and a t-shirt, suitable for any workout. But Cas was in black yoga pants, tight at the hips but cut loose in the leg, setting off the trim cut of his waist, and hugging his thick thighs and ass perfectly. Dean’s mouth involuntarily began to water. He wore a tight, light  grey tank top, the cut of which set off his shoulders and the color of which set off his icy blue eyes. Dean followed the trail of skin of his arms from shoulder to long fingertips, resting at his sides. 

Cas hurried over to Dean as Dean gaped at him. “Where in the hell did you get that getup?” Dean said, his voice sounding much rougher than he expected, looking Cas up and down. 

Cas shrugged. “They have a gift shop. I didn’t have any workout clothes.” he replied, looking Dean up and down in return. “Is what I’m wearing wrong?” 

Dean swallowed. “Um, no...not wrong. Just.” Dean shook his head, using every trick in his arsenal to keep from getting an inappropriate boner in his loose gym shorts. “Damn, Cas.” he said hoarsely, but stopped as Dr. Lea began speaking to begin the class. She had changed into yoga pants and a tank top. 

Dean raised his eyebrows in frank appreciation of her well-muscled, tall form. She couldn’t hold a candle to Cas, but he was smitten, not dead, okay? She had lost the reading glasses, he noted. 

She stood at the front of the room with hardwood floors and mirrors, and said “today we’re working on trust, so the goal of our partner massage yoga class is to touch our partner without any expectation of reciprocation. I want you to focus completely on your partner’s experience and pleasure. That’s how we build trust.”

Some of the people nodded, while others looked as uncomfortable as Dean. They awkwardly followed Dr. Lea’s instructions as she positioned them for the first posture, a lower back stretch. After a quick game of rock-paper-scissors (Dean knew Cas would always go for paper), it was determined that Cas would “receive” first, which gave Dean time to clear his head and be in control. Being in control was key. Dean needed to see what would happen before he let Cas do it to him.

The class was a hundred times more uncomfortable than Dean was expecting. To begin, Dr. Lea had one partner (Cas, in their case), lay on the mat in child’s pose. 

Dean actually knew that one. Believe it or not, he had paid some attention when dating Lisa, the yoga instructor, even though he wouldn’t let her name or Ben’s pass his lips anymore. 

As Cas kneeled, forehead touching the mat, arms behind him, she had their partner (in this case, Dean) actually kneel on their feet. Dean gently pressed his knees into the soles of Cas’ feet. “Does that hurt?” he asked tightly in a low voice. 

Cas gave an attenuated version of the groan he had treated Dean’s fantasy life to in their couple’s massage yesterday. “Not at all, Dean, that feels wonderful.” 

Dean then was asked to put his hands on Cas’ lower back (let’s get real here: his ass) and press downwards, assisting Cas in a deep lower back stretch. Great. 

Dean rubbed his hands together, then gently put them on the black fabric of Cas’ tight yoga pants, feeling Cas’ warm skin and taut muscles through the thin fabric. Was it his imagination, or did Cas shiver? Dean took a deep breath, then pressed down, immediately eliciting another deep appreciative moan from Cas. Great. Now he had a semi in yoga class. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

Dean knew what the problem was. He always was a total slut for pleasuring others. He always justified the physical contact he so needed and craved by rationalizing that he gave them as much, if not more, pleasure than he got. 

The truth was, getting others off was always the key to getting himself off. Honestly, he didn’t trust anyone who wanted to give him anything. Chuck knows he didn’t deserve shit. The only way he deserved any affection was to earn it, through giving someone the best they had. It’s the payment he gave others because he had nothing else to give them. Somehow this jacked-up feedback loop meant that knowing Cas was enjoying his touch (even platonically?) was a total turn-on for Dean.

Before Dean could reflect on the black hole that was his emotional life, however, the class was maneuvered into the next posture, a chest opener that had Dean’s feet pressed into Cas’ back as Cas sat upright, arms stretched behind him, held firmly by Dean’s arms. 

Cas leaned his head back, eyes closed, face blissful. Seeing him enjoying the pose made Dean feel almost proud, and more than a little powerful. He had a flash of insight. Cas often made him feel completely out of control, and he couldn’t have that. Maybe that’s why he never let the  _ this _ of  _ them _ surface. 

Dean’s arousal floated away as these thoughts crowded any physical sensation out of his mind. Dean was used to living inside his mind, expressing little externally except through fists and jokes. 

This class was a bad thing, though; a potent combination of physical intimacy and too much time to ruminate. Cas seemed oblivious, as usual, so there was that, at least. 

For their last posture, they were told to help their partner open their hip and groin. “Most people in our modern society spend too much time sitting at desks or in cars” lectured Dr. Lea “So hip openers are vital for health and they require a lot of trust.”

For this posture, Cas laid on his back on the yoga mat. Dean was instructed to pick up his leg and fan Cas’ knee out to one side, and place the sole of Cas’ foot on his shoulder. Then Dean was supposed to place his palm on Cas’ opposite thigh and  _ lean _ forward. Great idea. 

Dean looked around the room at the other couples, panicked. Did anyone else notice the, ahem,  _ suggestive _ nature of this positioning? The only time Dean had ever done this with another person had been when getting ready to, well, fuck them. 

Everyone else looked calm, focused on their significant other. Dean supposed that made sense; the rest of the couples actually were couples. Okay. He could do this. He rubbed his hands. Cas opened his eyes to squint at Dean. “Are you okay, Dean?” he asked. 

“Sure thing,” said Dean. “Just, um, just making sure I have the form right.” he mumbled, and picked up Cas’ foot. Dean really had never noticed before (probably because Cas walked around in a ton of clothes) but Cas had really nice feet. They even smelled nice, like some of the hippy-dippy oils, and clean soap, and his essential  _ Cas _ -ness. Dean placed it on his shoulder and put his own foot on the yoga mat outside Cas’ hip. “That feel okay?” Dean asked, his voice wavering embarrassingly. 

“I don’t really feel anything yet,” replied Cas, eyes closed, face impassive, blase as always. Dean took a breath, and placed a hand on top of Cas’ opposite thigh, pressing it firmly into the mat. 

_ You can do this _ , Dean thought, giving himself a little pep talk to suppress his physical response to being on top of his best buddy, old pal,  _ we’re just friends it’s totally not a thing there’s no them _ .  _ It’s just making someone else feel good _ , he thought.  _ I’m good at this. I can give Cas this.  _ He began to lunge forward, directly between Cas’ spread legs, and he felt a flush creeping up his chest. 

It would be so easy to just fall, Dean thought. Just lean forward until his chest was on top of Cas, until their lips touched. He could slip Cas’ leg up around his waist and feel them, hard, against one another. Just a few inches...

Cas breathed deeply and said “oh.” in a very small voice. His eyes fluttered open and caught Dean’s in his own. “Oh,” Cas breathed again, eyes wide in surprise and Dean froze, hands on Cas’ thigh and foot, his pelvis inches from Cas’, chest hovering above Cas. 

Dean forced himself to remember: Cas either can and doesn’t want to or can’t and never will. And even if he could and would, Dean would let Cas down, would fail Cas like he had every other person who had given a damn about Dean his whole life. 

Dean shook himself and let go suddenly, as if Cas were a hot stove he touched for a second too long. Cas’ foot unceremoniously fell to the yoga mat with a loud thunk, earning them a disapproving press of the lips from Dr. Lea. “Great! Nice work, dude,” Dean bluffed, not even comprehending the words as they escaped his mouth. “My turn.” he proclaimed, as Dr. Lea instructed the couples to switch sides. Jeesh. He was acting like a total dork. Par for the course on this case.


	11. What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas' turn to massage Dean takes an unexpected turn and Cas tries to let him down gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of what happened at partner yoga. These two dorks. Do you think they'll ever figure out?!

Cas met Dean in the yoga studio for the partners massage session. He thought there must be something to the case in everyone’s insistence they try it. If it allowed Cas to touch Dean, if that thought thrilled Cas to his very core, well, that was irrelevant to the mission.

Cas appreciated seeing Dean out of his jeans, getting to appreciate Dean’s long (and lightly freckled!) legs, his upper body in only a t-shirt, minus its usual triple-layer hunter’s plaid/jacket combo. Cas carefully avoided staring but snuck glances every time Dean huffed and rolled his eyes at something the yoga instructor said. 

Dean had seemed extremely surprised at Cas’ workout outfit. Cas didn’t quite understand what was wrong with it; the saleslady in the gift store assured him it was perfect for a yoga class. Dean seemed upset, though, shaking his head in exasperation at Cas. Cas resolved to make it up to Dean. They were supposed to be a couple, after all. Cas would have to give Dean a very good massage. For their cover. Of course.

Dean got to massage Cas first, though. How he always seemed to win at rock, paper, scissors, Cas would never understand. Just one more mystery about Dean he couldn’t seem to solve. 

Cas couldn’t deny his body’s reaction to Dean’s rough hands on his backside, pressing and stretching him just so. Cas was able to stifle his body’s reaction to Dean’s closeness during a shoulder stretch which felt absolutely heavenly, all stretched out long and backwards like a cat. 

But his resolve crumbled when the final posture put Dean directly above him. Dean pressed so close Cas could actually feel his body heat radiating, could smell his distinctive body odor, hear his breathing, far more labored that he should have been performing what was a simple stretch, and messed up.

“Oh,” Cas felt himself say, opening his eyes to find Dean’s green ones widen in surprise and shock. Dean was so close. Cas could tilt his head up, part his lips, and Dean could...“oh” he repeated, stupidly, and Dean flinched back as if Cas had slapped him. 

Cas’ face burned in humiliation. Stupid. Of course Dean wasn’t attracted to him; this male vessel. Not for the first time, Cas wished he had taken a female vessel, one more like the yoga instructor he had noted Dean admiring. Cas turned a smiting stare at her, hating her for having something he never could. 

He swallowed and rubbed his hands on his pants, gathering his courage, as Dean lay on the yoga mat, preparing for his turn.

Cas thought, so you can’t have Dean. Nothing new. You’ve known that forever. Just give him a nice massage, without wanting anything back. You can make him feel what you feel for him-that he’s valuable and worthy. That he’s safe with you. That he can trust you. No expectation of receiving anything, just sacrifice. 

Cas’ stoic face was frozen as he put all these emotions into the giving touch of stretching Dean. Cas’ hands gently led Dean through the first stretch, and then he helped maneuver Dean into the second posture; the chest opener. Dean’s happiness was his mission now, and if there’s one thing Cas was good at, it was focusing on the mission.

Dean had a large upper body; Cas had often admired the cut and set of his shoulders and back and chest. It seems that bulk also made Dean a little less than flexible, because it turns out it was incredibly difficult for him to get his arms straight and behind his back. 

Cas remembered what Brian told him. Dean’s heart chakra was blocked. He was reached out a tendril of grace, just at the edge of the center of Dean’s chest. 

Cas opened his eyes wide in immediate concern. He felt a tight ball at Dean’s core, a ball of tensed muscles, and deeper, a confused mess of emotional intensity, like anger and hurt and pain and longing all burning brightly right at Dean’s center. Cas thought,  _ this must be what a broken heart feels like _ . He thought,  _ I can fix this. I can help Dean _ . And so he reached a little further, with the tiniest tendril of grace, nudging the ball and soothing it, like petting the soft and fuzzy ears of a rabbit. 

Dean jerked his hands forward, out of Cas’ grasp. “Goddamnit, Cas, what the hell are you doing?!” he yelled, startling the entire class. Dr. Lea’s head whipped up at Dean, who was standing, panting, above Cas, who was just looking bewildered up at him. Dean looked around the room with wild eyes, then darted out of the studio. 

Well, that was not the outcome Cas had been expecting.

Cas wanted to heal the hurt he had felt at Dean’s core, but somehow that had made Dean very angry. A familiar feeling gripped his gut like an old friend: guilt. Cas had had more experience with this emotion than almost any other. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dean. Yet he had, because he was trying to get too close to Dean. He was too invested in the man. Cas needed to put an end to this. For Dean.

Cas followed Dean out of the studio with an apologetic smile to the class. He recognized pity in their faces. Silly humans. They thought Dean was to blame in the episode, in which Cas had clearly violated some boundaries. Cas would fix this. 

\------------------------------------------

He found Dean a few yards down the beach,skipping stones with angry reckless energy into the surf. He started in before Cas even drew even with him, spitting words into the wind. “Damnit, Cas, I’m fine, I don’t need you to--”

Cas abruptly cut him off. “I know.”Cas stared resolutely out at the ocean, face impassive, arms crossed. “That’s what I came out here to talk to you about, actually.” 

Cas knew his apology would mean nothing to Dean. Apologies didn’t mean anything to him. Actions did. Cas would take action to let Dean know he would respect his friend’s boundaries from here on out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw Dean’s face registering his confusion. He cast his eyes skyward and sighed, searching for words. “you...WE- don’t need to take this so seriously. None of this is real. We’re just pretending here. Enough of the ‘chick flick moments’” Proudly, he thought, I used the air quotes properly this time. “I know we’re not a real couple. This isn’t a real relationship.”

Cas turned to face Dean fully. Dean looked stunned, lost for words. Cas gathered the remnants of  his resolve, the battle hardened commitment he had honed over aeons, and went on: “Whatever our friendship is,” this was the closest Cas had ever come to openly acknowledging his feelings for Dean, and his voice quavered a little, “it’s survived worse in the past. If that past is any indication, it’ll probably be through worse in the future, too.” 

Here Cas tried to give Dean a crooked smile; a mannerism he had learned from watching Dean flirt his way backwards and forwards across the country. Dean hadn’t moved a centimeter since Cas had faced him.

Cas uncrossed his arms, putting his fists at his sides. “We don’t need fixing, Dean. We’re fine as we are. It’s true what I told you this morning: Your friendship means everything to me. I’m happy with what we have.”

There, thought Cas. You let him know you respect what he wants and won’t push for more. Finally, Dean moved, blinking and taking a deep breath. “Cool” he nodded evenly. “So we can just focus on the freaking case now. Saving people. Hunting things.”

“The family business” Cas finishes, with a tilt of his head at Dean. “What brothers do.”

Cas had spent the better part of the last decade learning to interpret Dean’s facial expressions. Because he wasn’t a particularly verbose man, Cas had to learn to read the signs of anger like an approaching thunderstorm, or watch for the quirk of humor to see if he was being made the butt of some joke. 

Now, Cas caught at least three emotions racing across Dean’s face in rapid succession: hurt, followed by anger, followed by the fake jovial charm Dean used to get what he wanted from strangers. Cas, again, felt confused. What was happening here, exactly?

Before Cas could figure that out, Dean hitched his face into a crooked grin that almost resembled a grimace. “Well, c’mon brother! I need a drink and I have a feeling we can dig up more dirt on the missing couples at the bar…” He was halfway across the beach before Cas switched mental gears and scurried after him. 


	12. Showboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just a showboat, won't catch me crying, no
> 
> Won't catch me showing any hurt
> 
> I'm just a showboat, pretending I can stay afloat
> 
> Pretending I’m not sinking
> 
> -Josh Ritter, Showboat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter that I wrote first, and basically wrote the entire rest of the fic around. Is it too out of character for either Cas or Dean?
> 
> In any case, sorry it took me so long to post, but I had to edit quite a bit to make it fit the rest of the case detail I added so...sorry!

 

By the time he caught up to Dean at the open-air tiki affair that was the resort’s bar, Dean had bellied right up and caught the eye of the handsome, slim bartender.

“What’s your poison, gentlemen?” he said, appreciative eyes taking a slow (and obvious) trip up and down Dean, punctuating the look with a flirty grin.

“Two tequila shots, and a couple more after that.” replied Dean with a cocked brow, tapping the slick wood bar in front of him. Cas threw a questioning face at him. Dean just gave him a dazzling smile, all teeth and sparkle, as the bartender queued up their shots. 

“I’m Lance,” the bartender purred, shifting his bare, brown shoulders fully toward Dean. “If you need anything,” he paused, letting the word sit in the space and gather significance, “you give me a holler.” He threw his dishtowel over his tank top’s shoulder and swayed off, not glancing back to check Dean was following his tall line. Cas’ eyes followed Dean following Lance.

Dean lifted the first shot glass. “Let’s celebrate, angel. To us!” and tapped his shot glass to Cas’, who was warily eyeing Dean, because Dean did not call him “angel.” Not ever. 

Cas downed his shot, looking suspiciously at Dean, who did something very different, indeed. He licked his hand, then salted it with the shaker at the bar. He then licked his hand again with a broad swipe of his pink tongue, waggling his eyebrows at Cas. Then he downed the shot, and bit down hard on the slice of lime that came with the tequila, making a squinched-up face. “Ah!” Dean said, shaking his head. “That’s the stuff.”

Cas narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Dean. Cas’ emotions were ping-ponging around wildly. He knew something was wrong, but couldn’t place what it was. And now he was as distracted by his attraction to Dean as ever. He swallowed and hoarsely bit out,  “I. . .wasn’t aware of that procedure for drinking tequila.”

Dean shrugged. “How would you? You’ve only seen us do it from the bottle. But we’re on vacation,  _ honey _ .” Cas peered at Dean. Something about the way he said the last word sounded more like an insult than an endearment.  “We should treat ourselves.” Dean looked challengingly, almost threateningly at Cas. 

Cas met Dean’s gaze, then tentatively licked his own hand, then shook salt on it. “Like this?” he asked Dean. Dean just stared back at him with a semi-glazed air. Nodded once curtly. Cas raised his second shot glass of tequila in preparation to mimic Dean’s earlier motions, but Dean’s hand shot out to grab Cas by the wrist. 

“Together” Dean said, voice tight. 

Cas’ own gaze became hypnotic as he watched Dean prepare his own hand, licking and salting it hastily. They did the shot together, without breaking eye contact, and ended up staring at each other over their lime slices, lips puckered. Suddenly, Dean chuckled, spitting his lime out. “Your face is hilarious, Cas.”

“These molecules are very sour!” Cas complained in justification. But Dean was already catching Lance’s eye.

A touristy assortment of music was playing. Dean must have recognized the song that came on, because he started humming and singing along. “You put the lime in da coconut and drink it all up,” 

Cas squinted at him concernedly. “This does not seem like your normal style of music, Dean.”

“It’s not, but we’re on vacay,  _ baby _ …” he trailed off as the Lance re-appeared and summoned them two outrageously silly-looking drinks, with coconut, lime, rum, and Chuck knows what else. 

Cas eyed them with open distaste. “Are you having a joke at my expense, Dean? This is like a Crowley drink!”

Dean just laughed. “C’mon, baby, we’re a couple on vacation, remember?” His voice dropped to a whisper “Don’t blow our cover,  _ brother _ . Saving people? Hunting things?” His tone again strayed to something approaching an insult. Cas observed that Dean already seemed to be feeling his shots. It must be a side effect of being out of training, reflected Cas, realizing he hadn’t seen Dean hit the bottle with any real purpose in ages. 

Cas was distracted from that line of thought by Dean shuffling behind Cas at the bar and putting his arm around him, crooning into his ear. “Doctor! ain’t there nothin’ I can take, I said, doctor! to relieve this belly ache,”

Cas lost himself for a moment in Dean’s heady warmth, feeling Dean’s breath tickle the back of his ear. The sensation was quickly superseded by the essential  _ wrongness _ of whatever was happening here, and Cas pushed Dean away resolutely. Dean reeled Cas back in immediately, grinding his chest against Cas’ back and letting one hand trail up over Cas’ chest. 

Cas panicked. Dean would feel his heart racing, his breath coming in short pants; how much he wanted Dean. Through Cas’ confusion and arousal came Dean’s voice at his ear again, “C’mon Cas, Play your part as my boyfriend so we can go get some dirt on this place. Then we can figure out what’s eating up couples here.”  Then Dean’s warmth was gone. 

Cas whirled around and Dean already had another drink in his hand (where had that one come from?) and was looking at Cas completely innocently. Cas just glared at him and sipped his own drink through a straw. It was sweet but delicious.

It seemed like Dean was angry, but also it seemed as though Dean was enjoying himself. In addition, Dean was really playing up the “cover” angle but seemed mad about it, somehow? 

Maybe Cas was misreading everything. Dean was probably just relieved at Cas’ respect for Dean’s boundaries. Yes, that was it. Dean was celebrating. And he was focused on the mission, and Cas was reading far too much into the “cover.” Fine. The Mission. Cas drained the remainder of the drink and said, “let’s go question that couple,  _ sweetie _ .” 

Dean whipped his head to face Cas’ returning glare in surprise, then leered. “OK, then, babe, lead the way,” he sneered while threading his fingers through Cas’. Cas tried to ignore the feeling of Dean’s calloused fingers against his as he led them through the now-crowded happy hour crowd. 

Twenty minutes later, they hadn’t discovered much, except that Dr. Lea had acolytes all over California’s ‘self-help’ wanna-be-mystical communities, and that older women found Dean just as appealing as younger women did.

“C'mon, sunshine” slurred Dean. “I’m dry.” He flagged down Lance and returned with an atrocious-looking beachy drink with what looked like an entire fruit salad on top. Cas couldn’t help the judgmental look he threw at Dean, which just seemed to amuse Dean all the more. “Bottoms up” he toasted to Cas, and downs it in one gulp. 

Cas sighed as Dean looked at him expectantly. “Fine” growled Cas, and followed suit. 

Dean began sucking on the fruit remaining in his glass. “Damn, that’s fresh,” he remarked about a piece of pineapple. Then he took the cherry and, well, sucked on it. Cas felt all the blood in his vessel drain from his face and race directly to his dick. Finally the cherry disappeared into Dean’s mouth and he began chewing it with a cocky smile. 

After he swallowed, he caught Cas’ eye and said, “Hey,  _ angel _ , let me show you a trick.” His eyes twinkling, he popped the cherry stem into his mouth. Cas was confused. Why would Dean eat the branch of a fruit? But Dean did not swallow the stem; rather, he was doing something inside his mouth. Finally, triumphant, Dean reached to his lips and pulled out a cherry stem, perfectly knotted upon itself. Understanding washed over a now-rather-drunk Cas in a sudden wave: Dean tied the knot using his tongue inside his mouth.

“That is an unusual trick” replied Cas levelly, silently praying he appeared more calm on the outside than he felt inside, going to drink his drink for a distraction and finding it empty.

“Well, it’s gotten me laid more times than I can count” said Dean. Cas understood the sense in that. The skill the man must have with his tongue... Cas shifted, suddenly very uncomfortable as he imagined Dean’s tongue on his body, sliding, hot and warm... “Be right back!” Dean interrupted Cas’ daydream, heading back to the bar (again?!)

Cas approached a couple of women visiting from Oregon, fishing to see if they had noticed or heard anything unusual this weekend. Cas could barely follow his line of questioning, distracted as he was by Dean, still at the bar, chatting away with Lance. Dean had his entire upper body draped over the bar, leaning in towards the tall barkeep, who was smiling and talking animatedly. Dean had one foot up on the bar’s kick rail, perfectly highlighting his ass in his jeans. 

Cas’ mouth was watering with desire, while his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides in annoyance at the attention Dean was showing Lance. Why would Dean be flirting with him, a man? 

As if Dean could sense Cas’ thoughts, he looked directly over his shoulder at Cas and smirked at him, repositioning his body to stick out his ass even further. Cas’ mouth fell open. Dean knew the effect he was having on him, was enjoying it.

A few moments later, Dean sauntered over with an entire TRAY of tequila shots for the whole group, which had grown to include Lana and Jason “to loosen their tongues” he whispered in Cas’ ear as he reached over him to set the drinks down at a nearby high top table. Cas of course was inevitably reminded of Dean’s tongue, which seemed already quite loose enough, but he understood the metaphor nevertheless.

At this point, Cas’ thoughts and emotions were so jumbled that he hardly registered what happened next. Someone made a joke about body shots. “Body shots?” Cas heard himself say, “I don’t see any firearms in here, Dean,” he stated, stupidly. The crowd laughed and Dean covered for him smoothly, “Cas grew up in a pretty conservative household.’ 

“Oh honey,” said Lana. “We’ve got to remedy that right away!” She grabbed Jason by the neck, licked it, and then did her shot, sucking the lime from Jason’s waiting teeth. 

The other couples followed suit, each one licking some part of their partner’s body before downing their tequila. Then they turned towards Cas. 

He could practically feel the smugness rolling off Dean next to him. Cas just shrugged and grabbed Dean by the shoulder (the one where he had left a mark, once upon an apocalypse) and got it over with, licking a broad stripe against Dean’s stubbly neck, which did  _ not _ taste delicious, thankyouverymuch, then consuming the alcohol and biting the lime slice. 

The crowd of couples went wild in celebration. “Now Dean’s turn!” crowed Lana. 

Dean, still wearing his insufferable smirk, shot glass in one hand, grabbed Cas by a belt loop on the front of his jeans and pulled him close, so close their bodies were almost touching. 

Dean suddenly removed his fingers from the belt loop and shoved Cas’ shirt up his chest roughly. In a blink, Dean darted his head down Cas’ torso and ran his tongue up the planes of Cas’ abs, starting around belly button height and going all the way up to Cas’ ribs. 

Cas inhaled sharply, surprised as he was aroused. In the next second, Dean made his shot disappear, but Cas couldn’t see the lime. Dean’s hand on his shirt reeled him in, and Dean careened towards his face. In the next confused second, Dean’s lips and mouth were on Cas’, but before Cas could register the sensation or properly respond, he realized Dean had just deposited the lime slice into his mouth. 

Cas reached his fingers to his lips and pulled it out, to the great amusement of the couples around them, who whooped and cheered as if their football team had just scored a touchdown. 

Cas felt sudden, hot anger flooding him, sweeping aside his white-knuckle lust. Dean was fucking with him, and, as usual, Cas didn’t understand it. And he couldn’t focus on the mission. 

The couples around them were an uproarious crazy mess and Dean seemed to be right at home. “Moves like Jagger” was playing and Dean asked Lana to dance, leading her out onto the dance floor singing “I got them drinks like Crowley.” Cas followed them for a moment with his eyes, then stalked away to a quieter corner of the bar to observe.

Cas’ confusion and concern only grew as he watched Dean dance and sing in the crowd. Another fruity drink had appeared, seemingly by magic, in Dean’s hand, and he was struggling to keep it from tipping over as he bumped and grinded with half the bar. 

Cas had seen Dean drink in the past, usually clinging to a bottle of booze in times of hardship like a drowning man sucking on an oxygen mask. This was...odd. He thought Dean would feel relieved, or happy. Instead, this show of joviality seemed nihilistic and desperate. He doesn’t seem to be doing any actual ‘research’ and, given how hands-on his dance moves were becoming with some of the women, Cas began to worry Dean was close to blowing their cover as well.

Cas sighed and crossed the dance floor to cut in. Dean whirled on him, eyes too bright, words slurring. “Hey, sunshine, missed you, get that sweet ass-” Dean punctuated this with a sharp slap to Cas’ behind ”-out here and dance with us!” 

Cas narrowed his eyes, but just then a slow rock song came on and Dean put his arms around Cas, pulling him closer. He vaguely recognized the melancholy opening chords by one of Dean’s favorite rock bands (The Black Keys; they sounded just like Led Zeppelin, apparently). “C’moooon, dance with me, Cas” he pouted. 

Cas needed to talk to Dean, to find out what this strange behavior was about, but it was so hard to focus with Dean’s hands on his back, his neck inches away. The singer’s bluesy lyrics spoke of longing and heartache, reminding Cas of Dean himself. 

Suddenly the drums kicked the tune up into a hard rock grind. Swaying in a close embrace was ridiculous as the lyrics became almost as angry as Dean seemed. His hand drifted down to cup Cas’ ass, gripping him tightly and pulling him in close, lazy smile on Dean’s lips. Cas’ felt his eyes widen like saucers meeting Dean’s hooded gaze. Dean let his hips drift closer until  _ shitshitshit  _ Cas’ own erection was brushing against Dean’s thigh. Cas opened his mouth to offer an excuse, but Dean just smiled triumphantly. He leaned toward Cas as if to tell him something over the music, which was plaintive and desperate now, and could have been speaking of Dean’s prayers, of his soul:  _ everybody knows that a broken heart is blind. _

But instead of speaking, Dean slipped his tongue delicately along the inner rim of his ear and Cas jerked back, inhaling sharply. Cas slipped away. Dean glowered after him. “Hey! Angel! Where’ you going?”

Cas whirled around and fixed him with his fiercest smitey stare. He worked his jaw, biting back the words that were rising up, unbidden, from his consciousness.  _ Not like this.  _ Instead, he fixed his face into stoic passivity and walked away to ask a waitress if she had any background on what was happening at the resort around the time the disappearances began. 

When he came back, Dean was flirting like hell with Lance again. Cas walked up and put his body directly between them, back to the bar, face to Dean. “Where the hell have you been?” snapped an irritable Dean. 

“I had to go get something back at the room” said Cas, “Don’t you think it’s time we went back?” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean says snarkily.

“Yes, I would like that. That’s why I asked you.” Stated Cas calmly. Hey, nobody said he couldn’t play the ‘I’m-just-a-dumb-angel-who-doesn’t-understand-human-things’ card when it suited him. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Make me.” he challenged, and sauntered back off the dance floor. Cas tracked him carefully through the mass of sweating, grinding bodies, noting how Dean’s hands strayed to almost anyone within touching distance. Not that they seemed to mind. Cas knew how humans responded to Dean’s flirtatious attention. Lost in thought, Cas was startled when the bartender interrupted his reverie. 

“You’d better take care of your man.” he said to Cas, fixing him with a quirked eyebrow as he slid a glass of water across the bar.

Cas lifted his chin, narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Bartender primly rolled his eyes, polishing drinking glasses as he spoke. “All I’m saying is, you’d better take care of him, or maybe I will.”

Cas’ mouth fell open. “Dean doesn’t like men” he heard himself blurt out.

“Oh, okay honey,” said the bartender sarcastically. “That’s why you two boys are here at a couples retreat together.”

Cas’ face burned, realizing how stupid he had been, blowing their cover like that. But the bartender didn’t seem to care, continuing his work nonchalantly. Cas quickly tried to recover.“I mean, other men. I’m the first…” Cas trailed off.

“Whatever. Listen, he just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to sweet talk me into going back to the bathroom with him. I almost took him up on it, too, except you guys seem like a cute couple and I took pity on your teddy-bear-looking ass.” The bartender pursed his lips and looked sideways at Cas.

Cas was utterly confused, feeling a rush of sudden jealousy at Dean’s apparent solicitation of this stranger, while wondering about the bartender’s desires, too. “Would you do that? Here? At a couples retreat?” Cas tilted his head, attempting, and failing, again, at understanding humanity.

The bartender barked out a harsh laugh. “Best place for it! Your boyfriend’s not the first half of a sad couple to come on to me in this place-man or woman.”

Cas skirted quickly over ‘man or woman.’ He knew there was such a thing as bisexual. Human sexuality was infinite in its variations. More confusing to him was the motivation of infidelity at a couples’ retreat. “I thought people came here to fix their relationships, not screw them up more.” Cas stated slowly, still rather lost on the whole concept.

The bartender snorted in amusement, then caught the serious look of Cas’ face and softened. “I don’t know” he said, more levelly. “Maybe some people don’t want to make a commitment they can’t keep. Some, like your boyfriend over there, have their hearts broken and are out for a revenge fuck. That’s why I told you. I’m fine being the shoulder to cry on but for the life of my I can’t figure out why he’s trying to fuck me to make you jealous when you’ve got that look all over your face.”

Cas’ thoughts slowed and the room seemed to spin. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the overstimulation or the confusion of. . . _ heart broken...revenge fuck...make you jealous… _

“What look?” was all Cas could manage to say aloud, bewildered.

The bartender just sighed and placed both hands on the bar between them, leaning into Cas. “Go get your man.” he said, firmly. “ I’d take him home myself if I wasn’t sure he’d puke on my shoes before I could get him in bed.”

\--------------------------------------

Getting Dean off the dance floor was far more difficult than Cas had anticipated. Dean was pretty intoxicated and extremely handsy. He was also apparently intent on getting Cas to dance with him again. In the end, Cas had to quietly threaten to use his angel strength to bodily drag Dean away before he complied, pouting and stealing another alcoholic drink from a dancing patron on the way out of the bar.

Cas determined in Dean’s current state of intoxication that heading back to their room would be a supremely bad idea. Instead, he walked Dean toward the beach, telling himself the fresh, cooler air would sober the man up. He replaced the stolen drink in Dean’s hands with the glass of water from the bartender. “Drink.” he commanded. Dean just sloshed the cup around as he traded the hand holding it in favor of slinging an arm clumsily around Cas, stumbling over the uneven sand.

Cas shrugged Dean’s arm off of him in the relative private of the dark beach. Dean slurred, “C’mon Cas.  _ Bro _ ” He emphasizes the word like a cuss. “My  _ brother _ . My man, my pal. Some brother, Cas. . you cockblocked me. Even Sam wouldn’t stoop so low.” Dean swayed in place, as off-balance physically as Cas’ emotions.

Cas stood quietly, a stillness to his face and arms he didn’t feel inside. “I didn’t think you were attracted to men, Dean. You never told me.” 

Dean threw up both hands, sloshing the majority of the water out of his glass onto the dry sand below. “What can I say, Cas? Little Dean wants what little Dean wants.” Here he tried to lean an elbow on a palm tree, crossing his legs confidently at the ankles, but he missed the tree, and nearly fell headlong into the sand. 

Cas grabbed his arm to steady him, removing the water glass to a safe distance. Dean stood and upright with Cas’ help, then fixed him with a cozy, predatory grin that made Cas’ skin tingle. Dean indicated his physical form with one hand, a kind of proud flourish: “Boys, girls, I can’t help it. They all want a piece of  _ this _ .” Then he leaned over and puked directly on Cas’ shoes.

“I can’t say I wasn’t warned” sighed Cas. He held Dean through the worst of it, rubbing his back and giving him sips of water. Cas exhaled again, his brain and senses completely fried for the evening. Getting Dean back to their room would be extremely difficult given his current state of inebriation. 

Cas decided to just push Dean towards one of the hammocks installed between two palm trees nearby. Dean was so unsteady he pulled Cas in after him. They tangled together in the weave of the hammock, limbs entangled. 

Cas could feel his body responding to the closeness. He tried to rearrange them so that they were touching in a more appropriate manner, but the hammock swung wildly, eliciting a warning groan of nausea from Dean. Cas stilled immediately, breathing next to Dean as the hammock slowed until it was barely swaying.

“Cas,” Dean whispered into his hair. “It’s okay.” Dean fluttered a small kiss to Cas’ temple. Cas squeezed his eyes shut, tried to regulate his breathing. He felt Dean’s hand trail softly down his chest. He could feel their chests moving in sync, breaths coming quicker. Then Dean’s fingertips reached Cas’ fly, and Cas grabbed his wrist, halting him. Dean’s lips brushed Cas’ hairline again. He whispered, “It’s okay, Cas. We can just pretend-” 

A long moment passed while Cas waited for Dean to complete his thought. We can just pretend to be a couple for this week? We can just pretend none of this ever happened later? We can just pretend we aren’t attracted to each other? What? 

Dean’s words were still ringing in Cas’ ears when he realized Dean had passed out, cold. Unwilling to move Dean, Cas lay his head on Dean’s chest. Dean’s hand lay warm on his stomach where it had fallen when he passed out. Cas opened his eyes to stare at the multitude of stars above, trying to memorize everything about this moment: the rocking of the hammock, breeze fluttering his hair, Dean’s body, warm and pliant, entwined with his, the sound and smell of the surf mingling with Dean’s smell.

The sounds of the bar had quieted a couple of hours earlier and only the gentle hush of the waves broke the stillness when Cas became aware of a presence on the beach. The tall, nude figure of Dr. Lea strode through the sand purposefully. The stars and moon shone intensely in the early pre-dawn dark, allowing Cas to make out her long, dark hair flowing below her shoulders. She carried a large black pot, as long as her torso. 

She, waded, as if hypnotized, into the water until she stood waist-deep. She spoke words Cas recognized as Ancient Mayan, but he couldn’t make out the exact meaning from this distance, even with his angelic hearing. He caught what he thought meant “birth” and “rain” and possibly “hunger.” Unwilling to draw attention to their presence since Dean wouldn’t be in fighting shape, Cas cowered in the hammock, watching intently.

Dr. Lea emerged, dripping, from the waves with her full vessel. Cas could see in the bright moonlight it was inscribed all over with symbols. Her hair was wet and slicked back from her face, and Cas noted with wide eyes that her ears, now visible, were that of a cat’s, spotted and peaked. They swiveled towards him, and Cas quickly shut his eyes, feigning sleep. Cas heard her feet shuffle off through the sand a few minutes later.

When she was completely out of sight, Cas roused Dean enough to help him stumble back to their cabana. Tendrils of light signaled dawn, and Cas noticed as the sky brightened, a splendid rainbow stretched across the sky above the rainforest.


	13. Truth Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam drops some #facts on Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know what you want. We're almost there, I promise!
> 
> Also, 100% done and Over It Sam is my favorite. That is all.

Sam drummed his fingers on the wood of Odie’s kitchen table. He’d left messages for Dean and Cas since returning from the waterfall hike the previous evening, but hadn’t reached them. 

He sighed, and took a lap around the small cabin’s living area, sidestepping his sleeping palette. Odie hadn’t returned last night after going out to meet with her local hunter friends. Which included her ex, Hank. And Sam hadn’t been invited. 

Sam _so_ wasn’t worried about Odie. He also wasn’t thinking about her at the club with Hank. Or why she wasn’t back yet.

Sam considered praying to Cas. No cell reception? Just throw up a hallelujiah to your local angel, he thought, somewhat hysterically. He paced back to the table and picked up his cell. One more try, he thought. Then prayer.

“Hello?” Came Cas’ voice down the line. Sam exhaled in relief.

“Cas! I’ve been trying to reach you guys. Where have you been all night?” His fears about Odie were transferrable, he realized. 

Cas was silent for a moment. “We...pursued some leads” he said, finally. His voice dropped. “I think Dr. Lea is at the center of this.” 

Sam nodded, even though Cas couldn’t see him. “Can you two come here? We’ll compare notes before your graduation thingie. There’s some stuff here I don’t want to mention over the phone, either.” Sam tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear. If Cas and Dean came by, he wouldn’t be so pathetically alone awaiting Odie’s return either.

“Dean’s a little…” there was that hesitation again. What the hell was going on over there at the Stone Jaguar, Sam wondered? “...under the weather.” Cas finished. “I’ll borrow a resort bicycle and be there as soon as possible.”

Sam rolled his eyes, resigned. Of course, Dean was hungover. Here he was, thinking maybe his brother had some kind of breakthrough with Cas. Chuck forbid he actually confront whatever weird, enmeshed relationship he had with Cas. Sam was so fucking tired of it, really. If this whole couples retreat didn’t spark a breakthrough, Sam was officially Giving Up. I mean, really. Come the fuck on.

\------------------------------------

The door to the cabin flew open. Sam glanced up from his laptop. “Hey, Cas” he said, distractedly.

“Did you know your brother is attracted to men?” Cas asked quietly.

Sam’s head snapped back up immediately. Cas was just standing there, in what Sam had taken to thinking of as ‘tourist drag’, face unreadable. Sam waited silently for the angel to go on. The moment stretched on so long Sam truly wondered how his brother managed to sustain this level of eye contact on a regular basis without it feeling weird.

Just as Sam was about to admit defeat and break the silence, Cas repeated his question, word for word, in the same disinterested tone of voice, as if he were asking Sam if he knew it was raining outside. Which it was, the light pattering on Odie’s thatch roof playing white noise.

The moment stretched as Sam froze. Oh my God. This was actually happening. This was a conversation he finally got to have.  _ Don’t fuck this up  _ was all Sam could think.  _ Don’tlaughdon’tlaughdon’tlaugh _

“Good morning to you, too.” Sam finally managed. “I guess that means your cover story is holding up okay?” He inquired, trying to keep the teasing out of his voice, and failing miserably.

“Our cover is fine.” Cas bit out, his impassivity breaking immediately. “We don’t have to fake relationship problems, because he tried to have sexual intercourse with the bartender last night. The _male_ bartender.” Cas growled, pacing back and forth in front of Sam.

Sam’s mouth quirked up. This was seriously too adorable. “Cas...are you... _jealous_?”

“This isn’t funny, Sam! I’m asking you to tell me the truth!” 

_Oh shit_ , thought Sam. Was it him, or did Cas’ eyes burn a little more intensely blue than usual? Sometimes he forgot. Angel of the lord, and all that jazz. Cas could be downright scary when he felt like it. Sam had already decided further teasing wouldn’t be the wisest course of action when Cas’ face became suddenly vulnerable. “Sam. “Cas pleaded. “Did you know?”

Sam sighed; he passed a hand over his face. “Honestly? We’ve never talked about it. I always kind of suspected. Certain looks or comments, times on the road. . .but he didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but my brother isn’t the most forthcoming with his feelings. He has the emotional maturity of an adolescent. You guys are actually kind of perfect for each other in that way.” He gave Cas a wry, apologetic smile.

Cas nodded, accepting this answer, apparently without taking insult. Sam hesitated, making up his mind about his next question. “What about you? Are you-are you attracted to men?” he asked with.

Cas considered his answer thoughtfully. “I believe so. I have very little point for reference. Dean is the only human being I’ve felt this way about.” He made this admission looking at a spot about three feet in front and to the right of him, looking so forlorn Sam couldn’t help but feel a twinge of empathy for Cas, who had obviously harbored these intense emotions for Dean for so long, never knowing the possibility of them being requited.

Sam swallowed, and quietly asked “Does he know?”

“I  _ lied _ to him” Cas admitted, voice cracking. “I told him I only wanted friendship. Before I knew he...  I. . .Sam, I don’t know what to do.” Cas finished forlornly, giving Sam the saddest puppy-dog face he had ever seen. And Sam could pull a pretty good puppy-dog eye when he wanted. He sighed.

“Cas, we’re not like normal people. We’re not going to have standard relationships.” Whoa. Again, maybe this was about someone other than Dean here. Sam pushed that thought away. Was he more self-aware than his brother? Yes. Was he ready to behave with maturity because imbued with this self-awareness? Maybe not.

Sam ran his hand through his hair again, grasping for the words. “There’s no rule book to follow here. You guys will figure it out.” Sam finished, adding firmly, “if you really want to.” 

Cas sidestepped Sam’s implied question. He flopped into a kitchen chair. “It doesn’t matter if I want to; Dean does not. He’s made that clear.”

Sam scoffed. Cas just looked defensive. “All this time!” Cas opened his arms expansively. “All this time I thought it was okay that he didn’t...return my feelings...because I thought he wasn’t attracted to men.” Cas looked down at the floor again, unable to meet Sam’s eyes. “But it turns out that was never the problem. He just didn’t want to be with  _ me _ ” he finished in almost a whisper.

Sam couldn’t help it. He huge peal of laughter bubbled its way out of his chest, even as Cas glowered up at him. “O-kay” Sam gasped out in his mirth, “what relationship have  _ you _ been watching?”

Cas nearly pouted. Sam was already amused, but didn’t think his further laughter would be appreciated, so he stifled it, waiting for Cas to respond. “If Dean wanted something” Cas began slowly “he’d move heaven and hell to get it, and you know it, Sam.” 

Sam considered that thoughtfully for a moment. Then he shook his head, long hair swinging in front of his eyes. “Cas-it’s not about want or even need. It’s about...Dean’s so afraid, can’t you see that? He leaned across the table and searched Cas’ face for a hint of understanding. 

Cas tilted his head, an old habit that resurfaced whenever he found humanity particularly challenging or perplexing. “Afraid? Of what?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Cas. Intimacy and abandonment and commitment and a bunch of other human shit like that.”  

Cas considered this quietly for a moment, then nodded once, tersely. “Dean did actually say something like that in group therapy yesterday.” 

Sam smiled, laughter threatening to bubble up again. “For two of the toughest guys I know,” Sam began, “you sure are a couple of cowards. It’s never going to happen unless one of you has the balls to tell the other how he feels. I’m betting it’s you.” Sam tilted his chin up towards Cas with an eyebrow wiggle.

Cas’ eyes widened slightly. “Me?” he repeated

Sam nodded. “I don’t think Dean will ever let his guard down in that way. Hell, knowing Dean, he probably thinks he’s protecting  _ you _ in some twisted way. That he doesn’t deserve you.” 

A spark flared in Cas’ eyes so intense Sam actually wondered if he was seeing the beginnings of angel smitey grace again. But it was just a trick of the light. Cas stated firmly: “Dean  _ deserves _ to be happy.” His tone brooked no argument whatsoever.

Sam smiled gently at Cas. “I’d like nothing more than to see my brother happy. But, Cas? First we’ve gotta solve this case, okay?”


	14. Heart on the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it was not your fault but mine.   
> And it was your heart on the line.   
> I really fucked it up this time.   
> Didn’t I, my dear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may need to adjust the rating.

Dean lay in bed on top of the covers, reclining against the headboard, trying not to move his head more than absolutely necessary. Despite downing the ibuprofen and water Cas had left for him, just getting showered and dressed had taken every ounce of energy he had. The room had barely stopped spinning so he had little else to do but lay there with his laptop open pretending to do research and reflect on how badly he had fucked things up last night.

This was a new low, even for him. 

Dean closed his eyes, listening to the tinny sounds of Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons playing from the small speakers on his laptop. Perfect. Just perfect. 

Dean groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the events of the previous night. What he could remember, at least. Cas had hurt his feelings with his whole “let’s just be brothers, old buddy old pal” routine, and Dean in hurt always defaulted to Dean in anger.

Angry Dean, aka Asshole Dean, apparently thought the appropriate way to express his feelings was to flirt with Cas and everyone else in a mile radius. What...for the fun of it?

No. To piss Cas off. To embarrass Cas. Because he could. Because it was safe now. Flirting didn’t mean anything now that Cas laid down the line. And that knowledge felt like freedom and not like grief. Nope. Not at all.

Dean groaned again, humiliation and shame rising in him as he recalled putting his hands (and mouth) all over Cas on the dance floor. Cas’ hurt look when he walked away. Then after. . .Dean couldn’t remember much. The grit of sand, the acid taste of puke, the sway of the hammock, and the warmth of Cas’ arm under his shoulder, supporting him as they returned to the cabin in the early morning pre-dawn dark.

Cas was pissed. Dean could tell, just from the way his note sounded: blunt and unadorned. 

_ Gone to see Sam. Drink some water. Cas.  _

As if conjured by Dean’s thoughts, Cas slid through the door of the cabana, toeing off his slip-on canvas shoes just inside. His skin, rapidly tanning in the equatorial sun, shone with a light sheen of sweat that pooled in the dip between his collarbones. Dean wondered distantly why Cas would need to sweat from a bike ride. His brainpan throbbed from the effort, so he abandoned it. 

Cas took in Dean with a slightly raised eyebrow. “You look like hell.” he said, tossing his small pack on the table by the door. “I mean that literally, like when I found you in hell.” Cas leaned back against the table, a hint of a smile around his lips.

Dean’s eyes followed him from the bed. “Serves me right, I guess.” he croaked out between pasty lips. Resolute. 

“Cas, I owe you an apology for last night. The parts I remember. . .” Dean waved a hand in the air next to him, still unable to lift his head without getting bed spins. “I acted like a real jerk. I’m sorry.” Dean held Cas’ gaze, his face grim.

Cas rose up off the table to stand, crossing his arms in front of him. “You don’t owe me anything Dean. But I accept your apology.” Cas nodded once, as if it was done. 

He walked toward the bed. “I need to apologize to you, too, Dean.” He came closer, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Dean. His breathing picked up, eyes widening. Cas continued “But first, I need you to sober up.” and pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. 

Instant relief flooded Dean’s entire body. His headache was gone, his mouth was no longer cottony and thick, and the nauseous spinning sensation abated.

Dean took a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of sudden normalcy after the last warm tingles of Cas’ grace left his body. He looked in wonder at Cas. “Thanks, man. That’s more than I deserve.” He felt the shame burning in him again. He had mistreated Cas so horribly and Cas was able to show him such, well,  _ grace _ , both literally and figuratively.

Cas took the coffee mug of water from Dean’s hand and set it on nightstand next to the bed, their fingers brushing briefly. Dean still hadn’t changed position, and was just staring up at Cas. He dropped the hand that had been holding the water back onto the comforter. 

Cas waited a moment, then began again. “You taught me when humans really want something, really bad, they lie. I lied when I said I only wanted your friendship.”

Dean’s brain began whirling so quickly he thought his hangover was back again.  _ What _ ? Before his sluggish thoughts could make sense of Cas’ revelation, Cas’ hands reached out and removed Dean’s laptop from his lap, snapping the lid closed, and placing it next to the water on the nightstand. Cas never broke eye contact. Dean swallowed, mouth suddenly dry again. He could hear the gentle surf in the now-quiet room; the soft breeze rustling the palms outside the window.

Cas continued steadily “I told myself the lie was honorable because I was protecting you. Because you weren’t attracted to men.” He peered at Dean, cocked his head. “I told myself it would be unfair to burden you with my feelings.”

Dean’s breath hitched, something like cautious hope welling up in his chest. He swallowed thickly once more and choked out “Your feelings?”

Cas never broke eye contact. “Last night showed me if you can be attracted to men, then I no longer need to protect you. In fact, if I continue to mislead you, it would only be to protect myself from the pain of your rejection. You are the bravest man I know. Now it’s my turn to be brave.”

Dean could do nothing but watch as Cas leaned forward, strong and sure as the tide, and kissed him on the lips. 

Dean felt Cas’ soft, warm lips against his, pressing gently yet firmly. Cas made no other efforts at contact. Did not grasp or lick or touch or sigh or moan. Dean stupidly kept his eyes open, and his brain was so behind current events he could not even respond properly. He just froze, unable to process everything that seemed to be happening so quickly.

Cas pulled away and sat regarding Dean silently, assessing his response. There was a long pause as Dean’s brain raced to catch up. Finally, something clicked into place. 

Dean could see the exact moment Cas saw him have this epiphany. It was a fraction of a second before Dean surged forward to kiss Cas. 

This second kiss was different. Dean grabbed Cas’ shirt front with one hand and grabbed the back of his head with the other. He pressed his lips insistently against Cas’. Cas was no longer cautious. He cupped Dean’s jaw with one hand, sliding his other around Dean’s waist. Just like that, Dean felt the ball of longing in his chest break open. Splintering into pieces and opening like the petals of a flower, radiating and echoing throughout his body, like a beacon of pure need.

Dean parted his lips, experimentally tilting his head ever so slightly, and Cas took the hint, deepening their kiss with his tongue, eliciting a moan from Dean. Cas repeated the action, and soon their tongues were darting out, teasing each other lips as Dean began to roam his hands down Cas’ chest and around his back. 

In this position, they were twisted halfway towards one another with their legs pointing in opposite directions, which Dean suddenly found extremely unacceptable in every way. He reach up and grabbed Cas, pulling him across his body and onto his side on the bed. 

Dean resumed kissing him, and pressed together side by side Dean had much better access to Cas’ neck, trailing kisses all along his jaw and back to his ear. It was Cas’ turn to let out a groan, and Dean smiled to himself.

Their hands wandered, seeking as much bare skin as possible around their tees and shorts. Somehow, Dean found himself with both hands cupping Cas’ jaw, kissing him with such undivided attention that he didn’t really know how or when his leg got hitched up around Cas’ hip. Cas’ pelvis ground into him insistently while his large hand ran up Dean’s thigh underneath the hem of his shorts, tickling the fine hairs there. Dean made an embarrassing noise of pleasure and drew Cas’ tongue into his mouth, sucking it, greedy for any part of him. 

Cas pulled back and tore Dean’s shirt off over his head. Dean caught a glimpse of blue eyes, pupils blown wide, before Cas pressed both hands to Dean’s chest, pushing him back against the soft linens. Hands were replaced with Cas’ pink lips, showing no mercy in their path down Dean’s chest. Dean squirmed underneath the alternating temperature and pressure of Cas’ tongue and mouth, working his torso over, licking, sucking, and nibbling progressively closer to, then focusing on, his nipples. Dean felt a surreal flash of falling, gravity and want pulling him backwards through the mattress, surrounding by Cas’ scent, all musky sweat and spicy shampoo and crisp grace. It was too much and not enough. He couldn’t respond beyond burying his hands in Cas’ soft hair and moaning in a way that betrayed just how much he needed this.

Cas eventually took mercy on Dean’s left nipple after discovering that a light, sharp nip would result in hair-pulling. He focused his efforts down Dean’s soft stomach, until his pillowy lips traced the waistband of Dean’s shorts. He looked up then, and said “I want to taste you.” It was phrased as a statement, but Dean heard it for the question it was. 

“Yeah, Cas” Dean breathed, nodding quickly down at Cas through hooded lids. “Fuck, yeah.” Cas’ gaze grew more intense for a fraction of a second before he slipped Dean’s shorts smoothly off Dean’s legs. 

Dean’s excitement at this new direction was thwarted when Cas proceeded as though they had all the time in the world. Instead of putting his clever, beautiful mouth where Dean wanted it most, Cas sat back on his heels and regarded Dean’s nude form. The mid-morning sun played through the wood blinds, painting Dean’s skin with patches of light. It gathered behind Cas’ dark hair, now messed beyond social acceptability, and hung atop his head like a halo. 

If Dean thought he had squirmed with Cas’ mouth on his nipples before, that discomfort was nothing compared to being pinned like a butterfly under Cas’ gaze. It wasn’t quite predatory, but it was assuredly and completely in control. Cas drank his fill with his eyes for a long moment. Dean was opening his mouth to make a self-deprecating quip when Cas broke the silence.

“I want to make you feel good, Dean” breathed Cas, serious as a heart attack. “May I put my mouth on you?” He rested his large palms on Dean’s upper thighs. Dean’s chest felt tight, like he could barely breathe. The tension that always existed between them was thick, like the haze in the Kansas air before a spring thunderstorm.

Dean nodded once, mouth open, hard cock bobbing against his stomach with the movement of his head. Cas slunk down between Dean’s legs and swiped his broad tongue up the entire length of him, base to head. Dean squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as Cas repeated the movement. This continued until Dean was wet and writhing when Cas finally took the sensitive head into his mouth and sucked gently.

“Oh, shit,” Dean groaned. His hips began to move of their own accord, pressing his length more fully into Cas’ mouth, but the perfect wet heat disappeared with a soft ‘plop’ as Cas began to nuzzle the crease between Dean’s thigh and pelvis. Dean’s legs fell open in response. Cas rewarded him by sucking a deep red mark into Dean’s inner thigh. 

One firm hand grasping Dean’s member, Cas’ mouth ventured lower. He gently sucked one, then the other, of Dean’s balls into his mouth, moaning around them. Dean felt his dick twitch and grow harder in Cas’ hand.

Writhing, Dean began to toss his head back and forth on the pillow. The teasing treatment Cas was giving him was simultaneously frustrating and glorious. He had waited for this for so long; actually getting to have it was overwhelming. Dean forced himself to stay present, to enjoy every sensation. 

So Dean gave himself over to Cas’ strong hands pushing his thighs up, to his tongue tracing lower still, to that firm skin behind his sac. Only a couple of women had ever been knowledgeable enough to touch him there. It was fucking fantastic, but Dean felt himself tense.

Yeah, that was Cas’ tongue on his ass. And it felt…

Thing was, despite his boasting to Cas the night before, he hadn’t really been with that many guys. And the experience he did have usually consisted of hands or mouths in bar bathrooms, alleys, or back seats. Quick, anonymous encounters with a clear destination, so Dean took the path of least resistance in getting there. But this was different. Even with women, Dean had never been laid out and just worshiped like this. It made him feel exposed, unworthy.

Dean experienced a sudden jolt of clarity. This was headed somewhere he wasn’t ready to visit. Not just getting, physically, to ‘fifth base’ (which he looked up and totally got now, thanks a lot, Rowena) but-

-but, you know, emotionally. Like feelings and shit.

In an instant, Dean’s eyes shot open and his lower back arched off the bed high enough the let sunlight through. Cas’ tongue lost contact with the movement, and he stopped his ministrations. 

“Is this still okay, Dean?” Cas’ voice was even rougher than usual. He pressed a tender kiss to Dean’s quadricep and ran a hand up his abs. “We can stop anytime, if this is too much for you-”

“No!” Dean’s reply came out more loudly than he planned. He propped himself on his elbows, forcing himself to meet Cas’ eyes. They were soft blue in the warm light. He had his brows drawn down in an adorable frown. 

“No,” Dean repeated most softly. He sat up and guided Cas back on the bed, plucking open the buttons of the angel’s touristy printed, short-sleeve shirt. He pushed the shirt off Cas’ arms and allowed him hands to trail over Cas’ chest, grazing pink nipples along the way. “I was just overthinking.” He allowed a smirk to play around his lips. Damn, Cas looked unfairly gorgeous laid out on the pillows with nothing but shorts on. “It’s my turn,” Dean said in a rough voice, reaching for Cas’ button and unzipping his fly.

Thing was, Dean needed to reassert some control in this situation. Giving pleasure was something he did well, if he did say so himself. Dean softly drew Cas’ cock out of his underwear, then hastily shoved down his shorts and boxers as one to mid-thigh. He  stopped to admire it, thick and heavy in his rough hand. Dean licked his lips and swallowed him down in one smooth movement. Cas’ responding cry made Dean’s own length throb between his legs as he pulled out all the stops for Cas. He started to draw him in deeper, providing plenty of lubrication from saliva. Dean sucked at his slit gently, then opened wide and began to bob his head. 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas garbled, sounding helpless. His hips began to pump steadily. Dean could see Cas’ hands grappling at the sheets to either side. Dean couldn’t help moaning an encouragement, and Cas’ hips set up a rhythm that had him fucking steadily into Dean’s eager mouth. 

Cas’ hands came up to tentatively stroke Dean’s hair. Dean forced himself to open his eyes and meet Cas’. While maintaining eye contact, Dean made a filthy noise around Cas’ width and swirled his tongue around, pushing his head back into Cas’ hands. Cas rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the pillow chanting Dean’s name. This made Dean feel powerful. And powerfully turned on. 

Every few pumps, Cas pushed a little farther down his throat, and Dean began to moan in earnest, locking his hands on Cas' hips to prevent himself from jerking his own cock. Dean felt Cas grow impossibly harder, stretching his lips even wider. Then Cas was shoving at Dean’s shoulders, grabbing at him, pulling under Dean’s arms and bodily hauling him up the bed with his supernatural strength. 

“Come here,” Cas growled. He peeled his shorts the rest of the way off his legs. “Get up here, now, Dean!” Cas pulled Dean’s legs across his torso, as demanding as Dean imagined him as a commander of heaven. 

As Dean leaned forward to kiss Cas dirty and open-mouthed, Cas grasped Dean’s butt and moved him down so that Cas’ dick was sliding between his cheeks. The path was slick from Cas’ spit and Dean’s sweat, and the sensation of Cas rocking up against him was setting his nerves afire. Dean didn’t mind discovering Cas was a bossy lover. 

Dean used Cas’ beautiful shoulders to level himself into a sitting position. He looked down at his own cock, glistening and bobbing just above Cas’ gorgeous tan stomach. Dean’s hand moved to tug at it of its own accord. One of Cas’ hands covered his, and the sight of it almost made Dean come right then.

“That’s it, Dean” Cas ground out, low. “Show me what you like.” Dean’s head fell back. He applied more pressure, adding a twist at the top. He was still riding Cas, legs trembling from exertion. Cas’ other hand roamed to Dean’s nipple and gave it a twist. Dean almost sobbed in frustration. He was suspended on the brink, it wasn’t enough, he couldn’t quite pull himself over that peak, so close to orgasm. 

Then Cas stilled. His hands left Dean’s body. Dean lowered his head, panting. He wanted this so badly, why wasn’t it working for him?

Then he was flipped onto his back. His eyes flew open, meeting Cas’ steady blue gaze. “It’s okay, Dean,” Cas sighed in a low voice. He leaned down and took Dean’s mouth apart completely, settling in between Dean’s thighs. “I want to feel all of you, too. I want to feel your skin everywhere.”

Oh. Dean realized he had never been totally nude with a guy before. Let alone one he was fucking crazy about like Cas. In this position, Dean could feel his back pressed firmly into the mattress. His legs fell open wider so he could pull Cas in to kiss his jaw, his ear, his neck. Dean let his arms wrap around Cas’ shoulders, which were surprisingly strong. He smoothed his hands down the expanse of Cas’ bare back.

Cas got it. Dean needed to feel more of him, be closer to him. Cas ground against him, his member slipping in the soft groove of the juncture between Dean’s thigh and balls. Dean’s own cock was trapped between them, rubbing gloriously from both their stomachs. The sob that escaped Dean this time was one of relief awash with pure pleasure. 

Dean was completely defenseless to the inevitable, building orgasm. Cas’ snaked one firm hand under Dean’s ass, pulling them impossibly closer. His other hand left Dean’s hair to pull one of Dean’s hands off his shoulders and pinned it above Dean’s head. Cas’ harsh voice exclaimed “Fuck!” in awe, and the sound of that voice saying that word tipped Dean right over. 

Dean had never, ever, made noises like this before in bed. It seemed to last forever. He felt warm come splash between them, combining with their sweat to make things even slipperier. Cas’ eyes never left Dean’s as he snapped his hips two, then three more times before his release joined Dean’s between them. 

Cas hadn’t even finished before claiming Dean’s mouth again in a kiss, just as hot and possessive as if he hadn’t just come. Dean accepted him, happily exploring the transition between rough stubble and smooth lips. They kissed and breathed together, savoring the moment. Dean felt his heart beating in his chest, and for once, he wasn’t scared about the future, or what any of this meant. He was just…

happy.


	15. Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After? Or just Happier For Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your patience, a mini chapter now. I have to admit, writing this was a little bit my reaction to what I perceived as overly fluffy fic where they sleep together and then are married instantly. Nothing against that-I read and like plenty of it, but sometimes it stretches so much out of character that I can't enjoy it, you know? 
> 
> I was trying to imagine what it would actually be like. Dean and I are similar ages but very different personalities. Nevertheless, I like imagining what an adult person (with a shit-ton of baggage) would really be like entering a serious long-term friends-to-partners dynamic. It's why I shipped Mulder/Scully on TXF so hard. I like grown-up relationships. Now whether or not I can write one remains to be seen;) It's harder than it looks, so hats off to all of you who have been doing this so well for so long!
> 
> I wrote myself in a bit of a corner because I was all like, you know what would be great? A fun casefic mystery! And original characters with backstory! And another relationship with Sam! And...wait, I have to weave those all together and resolve them now? Ah, shit.
> 
> Coming in next day or so-the part that's been kicking my ass: who knows what about the mystery and how we move our boys into the final act. There are still mysteries to solve and character arcs to complete (or move forward). So please keep reading!

Cas rolled onto his back. For a long time, there was no sound in the room but their gradually slowing breaths and the chatter of tropical birds outside the window. Cas stared at the ceiling. This was the part he had always dreaded the most when he imagined confessing his feelings to Dean.

The man next to him draped an elbow across his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he chuckled. 

“No, I am just an angel of the lord,” deadpanned Cas. 

Dean craned his neck up at Cas, who smiled, fully aware of his little joke. Cas noted how the mid-morning sun caught the tips of Dean’s eyelashes, tingeing them gold. 

Dean stared. Cas stared. The atmosphere in the room thickened with tension again, as if the interaction between them hadn’t just happened. Cas shifted, wanting to reach out and touch Dean again.

“Great.” groused Dean. “Now you get a sense of humor. Seriously, though, Cas, that was--” suddenly Dean’s face fell, eyes distant. 

_ Brave _ , thought Cas. He reached his arm out to stroke Dean’s chest. “What?”

Dean’s skin pebbled at the touch and he shivered at the contact of Cas’ fingers. It made something inside Cas clench, almost painfully so. “I just. There was so much I wanted to do. If we ever...I planned on…” Dean halted, unable to complete his train of thought.

Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder and pulled him so they were facing each other on their sides. “Look at me.” Cas cupped Dean’s jaw and fixed his eyes. “We have time.” Cas rubbed Dean’s cheek with his thumb in soothing circles.

Dean pursed his lips, revealing shallow dimples when he clenched. He rolled to his back out of Cas’ reach. “But will we?” Dean set his jaw and met Cas’ eyes challengingly. He was obviously referencing their earlier therapy session, and his dissatisfaction with Cas’ frequent absences.

Cas flopped back, sensing Dean needed the distance to hear anything. His hand sought out Dean’s on the soft covers. He intertwined their fingers, choosing his words carefully. “Dean.” Cas began, and Dean sighed.

“Dean.” Cas said more firmly, “I  _ will _ have to leave again. So will  _ you _ , for that matter.” Dean harumphed, pulling at his hand. Cas gripped hard, refusing him escape. “But no longer do we need to lie to one another. It doesn’t have to be like that anymore.” Cas left  _ if you don’t want it to _ unsaid. He was afraid of the answer. 

Cas had learned a lot about humanity over the past decade in proximity with the Winchesters. Lies, he understood. Tactical lies. Lies of kindness. But most importantly, the falsehoods humans told themselves. Cas worried Dean wouldn’t want this, that it would be too much. His self-proclaimed fear of abandonment the lie he would use to push Cas away.

Dean squeezed Cas’ hand. He nodded once at the ceiling, and it felt like they had sealed a compact somehow. “Okay, Cas.” Dean said, pulling him in for a kiss, hand at the back of Cas’ head. “Okay,” he repeated.

\-----------------------------

The kisses and the morning stretched out like taffy. Cas felt lazy, drugged, floating in what seemed like suspended time. Knowing Dean might feel uncomfortable with the fluids that covered them both, he intended to suggest they get cleaned up. Then Dean’s tongue would dart out and trace the place where Cas’ earlobe attached to his jaw, and Cas would procrastinate further.

He couldn ’t imagine his body finding the fortitude for more physical intimacy after what had transpired between them, but when Dean began sucking soft marks in a trail down the soft skin of Cas’ stomach, he found himself swelling again. 

Cas looked down and caught Dean’s eyes, twinkling with mischief. His lips were bright pink and spit-slick. Cas knew, distantly, Dean was using sex to avoid further intimate conversation. He found he didn’t care much at the moment.

Dean had just nuzzled Cas’ pale inner thigh when a ringing startled them both.

“Son of a-” muttered Dean, diving for his cell phone. He glanced at the screen and gave Cas an apologetic look. “What is it, Sammy?” Dean’s tone made it clear he wasn’t happy with the interruption.

Dean was silent, listening. He sat back on the bed, stroking Cas’ thigh, his gaze wandering up to lock eyes with Cas. He exchanged the occasional “uh-huh” or “Okay” with his brother, hands never leaving Cas’ body, which was responding quite nicely to the caresses. 

“All right, all right!” he finally exclaimed. “Keep your panties on. We’ll get dressed and be right there.” Dean’s eyes went wide. His hands flew to grip the phone, as if hoping to capture the words back out of it. “Um, changed! I mean, changed! We’ll change our clothes, because of the heat, and, um…” Dean’s cringed, beet red.

Cas smiled faintly as Sam’s laughter rang clearly through the phone’s speaker. Cas didn’t even need his angel reflexes to successfully dodge the phone as Dean tossed it at him in annoyance. 


	16. Eggshell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Odie, Cas, and Dean meet and exchange information about the case. Sam and Odie earn each other's trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYVM for your patience. I'm so grateful for those of you reading, I cannot even tell you.

The hammock rocked in the ocean breeze, shaded by the palms rustling above. Eyes closed, Sam pushed thoughts of a missing Odie out of his mind. Thoughts about his pep talk to Cas crowded in on their heels. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him audibly of the late mid-day hour.

He cracked his eyes enough to seek out the hand-thrown mug resting on his stomach. The nutty aroma of instant coffee lightened with canned, sweetened, condensed milk hit his nose before the flavor hit his palate. Sam swallowed, trying to organize the facts at his disposal into a coherent picture.

Sam had shared the photo of the broken vessel on his phone with Cas, who identified the symbol as that of Ixchel, a Mayan goddess of medicine and childbirth. Cas related Dr. Lea’s nocturnal ritual, and the two men agreed the woman and the goddess were somehow at the heart of it all. 

A shadow fell across Sam’s face a split second before he heard the rope of the hammock creak in protest as he was dumped, unceremoniously, on the hard, packed sand. 

Wind thoroughly knocked out of him, Sam sat on his ass, coughing on the ground. When he could once again see, it was only to glare at Dean, laughing uproariously above him. His brother was doubled over with hands on knees for support. 

“You should have seen your face!” Dean crowed. Cas stood an arm’s length away, an odd battle between sympathy and amusement playing out on his features. Sam struggled to his knees. 

“Nice threads.” Sam’s lame attempt at a comeback was directed at his brother. Some men shouldn’t be allowed to wear shorts, in Sam’s opinion. Nor did he care to see his brother’s hairy toes, offensively unmaintained and on display in sport sandals. “Watch out or the fashion police’ll issue a citation, Dean.” The older man scoffed, flipping up the collar of his tropical-print short-sleeve button down, worn open over a plain grey t-shirt. 

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean shoved his aviators up his nose. “I’m gorgeous.” 

Sam was distracted from further bickering by the open way in which Cas was smiling fondly at his brother.  _ Gross. _ Cas caught Sam looking, and reached a hand down to assist him to his feet.

Sam dusted the gritty sand from his swim trunks. “Did you guys walk here?”

Cas nodded. “It’s not far. There are many lovely flowers along the way. Did you know Belize has a species of bee that’s stingless?” Cas warmed up to this topic, lecturing Sam about the threat the native bees suffered from Africanized honey bees. It was Dean’s turn to stare at Cas like a stupid gobsmacked lovesick puppy.  _ Ugh. _

Sam stomped into Odie’s pink cabin. The other two men followed him. Dean whistled appreciatively. 

“Here I was under the impression you were roughing it while Cas and I got the luxury treatment.” Dean took a swig of the Beliken Sam had just handed him. “Now I’m thinking you got the better deal.” Dean passed his beer to Cas who accepted it without comment and took a swig. Sam’s eyebrows performed a dance of confusion across his forehead. 

“Uh,” Sam began, “Yeah, we’ve been working, but I’m not gonna lie, the surfing’s awesome.” 

Dean threw up his hands. “Working hard on the case, huh? Is that why you were so insistent that  _ I  _ take it easy?”

Sam suddenly realized Sam and Cas didn’t know Odie was female. Not that it mattered. There was no reason not to mention it. It must have just not come up. He tried, and failed, to think of a way to bring it up now that would seem a) natural and b) casual. 

“ _ Sam?  _ Take it easy?” Odie’s voice rang out from the doorway where she leaned, arms crossed, against the frame. Sam noted she wore the same clothes as the night before; tights jeans and a coral tank top with dangling silver earrings, her twists adorned with cowrie shells. “Good luck with that. He’s in love with his  _ books. _ ” Odie crossed the creaking wooden floor of the small room to the open kitchen, opening the fridge and procuring her own Beliken.

Sam crossed his arms, irritation flooding him. He had worried all night and she just flitted in here, cool as a cucumber. She didn’t even look at Sam.

“You must be Dean.” Odie assessed the older hunter, taking in his taller form, sharper features, greener eyes. Sam tamped down the jealousy he usually felt when women compared him and his older brother. At least he was taller, Sam thought smugly. 

Odie popped the top of her beer with an opener mounted to the fridge. “And you’re Cas.” she tipped her bottle in the angel’s direction before taking a gulp. Cas dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

Sam noticed, close up, how ashen her skin appeared. The whites of her eyes were rimmed with red and tiny blood vessels skated angrily around her brown irises. Deep black circles sat under them, a line creased between her brows above. He caught a whiff of incense coming off of her, as well as a skunky scent he associated with weed. Her jeans and sandals were streaked with mud and wood ash dusted her tank and arms. Sam unconsciously reached a hand out to her shoulder, but dropped it almost as quickly under Dean’s knowing leer.

“ _ You’re _ Odie?” Dean’s obnoxious grin filled his face. “ _ Sam’s _ Odie? Late-night chats-on-the-internet Odie?” He looked back and forth between her and Sam, like Christmas had come early. “He didn’t mention you were a-”

“-A gorgeous woman?” Odie cut him off smoothly, as was her habit. “Yes, yes, we all know you American men are desperately uptight about matters of sex. Get over it. We need to discuss the case. I’m starving. Are you going to help me make lunch or just sit there staring?” She marched to the counter and began gathering ingredients. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugged and followed her. 

Cas approached the counter. “It’s short for Melodie, isn’t it?” Sam watched the understated angel’s charm offensive with amusement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Cas steadily offered a hand, doing his deep staring thing. Nothing like he did with Dean, but still, Sam thought, hard for anyone to resist those baby blues. Odie accepted it, then immediately ordered him to clean and cut the conch and shrimp she had brought back from market in her bag. She set Dean to juicing limes, and Sam was tasked with chopping onions, tomatoes, and hot peppers. Once assured lunch was well in hand, Odie retreated to clean up and change.

\--------------------------------

“Oh dear God in heaven!” Dean exclaimed loudly around a mouthful of ceviche. Odie, startled, dropped her fork with a clatter. 

Sam laid a hand on her forearm. “It’s a compliment, believe it or not” he told her over Dean’s pornographic moans.

“Actually,” Cas began, helping himself to a crisp, toasted tortilla, “God isn’t-”

“Here, taste this, Cas!” Dean interjected, slightly panicked. They hadn’t filled in Odie on the whole Cas-is-an-angel thing. Or on the God thing. Sam wasn’t sure how much she knew beyond supernatural monsters, and didn’t want to over-complicate things in his time here. Hunters who did know about angels tended to not be the biggest fans.

Dean was lifting a tortilla fragment loaded with the shrimp and conch ceviche on it to Cas’ mouth. Cas’ eyes flicked back and forth between Dean and Sam before accepting the bite, Dean’s fingers brushing Cas’ lips as he did so. Cas chewed and gave Dean a small smile around the bite, causing Dean to flush and look down at his plate.  _ Gross _ , thought Sam again. 

“So Odie,” Dean cut in gruffly, “what’d you find out last night on your little field trip?” He raised his beer bottle to his lips and stared at her across the table. “Sam tells me you didn’t get home at all last night. Busy with  _ research? _ ” Dean let the last word drip with skepticism

Sam groaned internally. The only thing more embarrassing than Dean’s gleeful teasing was his hyper over-protectiveness. Then again, Odie didn’t seem likely to be cowed by Dean’s antics. Sam settled in for what promised to be an entertaining show. 

“I was.” Odie sipped her own beer, meeting Dean’s eyes levelly. “I met my ex-boyfriend and fellow hunter, Hank, at the local night club. He’s a DJ there, you know,” she added in an unconcerned tone. 

“That sounds like really important casework, Odie.” Dean crunched a tortilla slice. He chewed with his mouth open, belligerent.

“It was. He saw some of the missing people. At the club before they went missing. It wasn’t until we reviewed them last night he realized he only saw half of each couple. A single lover, sad and lonely, seeking solace outside the resort for their broken heart. It seems their other half decided therapy wouldn’t take, and took up with a local who works at the resort.” Odie reported with a self-satisfied air.

Dean scoffed, unimpressed. “Cas and I already knew that.” He waved a hand at Cas, who was looking back and forth between the hunters like he was watching a match at the Wimbledon. “Lance over there at the Stone Jaguar’s bar is a real smooth operator.” Dean gave her a conceited smile. “Tried to make a move on me.”

Cas turned fully to face Dean. “That is not how I recall events transpiring, Dean.” he said in a low voice. Dean’s face froze in suspended panic. Sam felt his grin stretch painfully across his cheeks. 

“So did you know the pottery shard Sam and I found at the waterfall bore the mark of Ixchel? Odie rose her chin in challenge at Dean, not noticing the domestic drama she was interrupting, much to Sam’s chagrin.

“Eggshell?” Dean replied, confused.

Odie smirked. “He really  _ is _ just a pretty face, Sam!” Sam hadn’t said any such thing to her, but she had an uncanny way of reading situations and people rather quickly, and she had obviously assessed their brotherly dynamic and was now using that information like a sharpened knife against Dean. Dean was sputtering like an engine struggling to turn over. Sam knew he had to jump in quickly to dial down whatever pissing contest was going on here.

“I actually knew that already, Odie.” Sam tilted his body so his back was to Dean, searching out her eyes. “Cas told me. He’s kind of an expert on...ancient stuff.” Cas nodded his affirmation at Odie’s curious look. “She’s the  Mayan goddess of midwifery and medicine, right?”

Cas intoned “She usually appears as an aged woman with jaguar ears. She wears an entwined serpent for her headdress, and crossed bones decorate her skirt. Sometimes she’s depicted with claws on her hands and feet.”

Odie gaped at Cas. “Is he, like, your human Wiki?” she asked.

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much,” he admitted. “Anyway, Cas over here saw Dr. Lea, complete with a vase kinda like the one you guys found broken. And that’s not all,” he said in response to Odie’s sudden interest. “She was out for a midnight swim in her birthday suit, chanting in ancient Mayan with a big old pot like the one you guys found broken at the waterfall.” Dean grinned, preparing to add his coup de gras, even if Cas had been the one to witness it, “And get this: she had cat ears, right, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas confirmed. “I did tell Sam all of this information earlier this morning before we-”

“How come you didn’t tell me you knew the marking was Ixchel’s at the waterfall?” Sam asked, effectively ending his brother’s torture. Fun though it was to see Dean suffer, Sam did worry about the health of his heart when his eyes bugged out like that. 

Odie shrank in her seat. “My mum used to call on Ixchel sometimes. It was part of her tradition, and in her work as a midwife, well…” The female hunter had none of her assurance and attitude when talking about her mother. “Pregnancy and childbirth can be difficult here.” Odie’s eyes were far away, unseeing. “People need something to pray to, to believe in, but I didn’t think it was real.” She set her shoulders and faced all three men. “And I didn’t want you to think I was some ‘primitive’ islander, a simpleton who’d believe any superstitious bunk.” She spat the words, daring them to think it true.

Sam covered his mouth with a hand. “Oh, Odie,” he rubbed his chin. “If you knew what we’ve seen…”

He usually gave this speech but Dean had been taking over lately, and he did now. “It’s all real.” His tone was blunt but not without kindness. “Angels. Demons. Gods.” Dean shrugged, unwilling to elaborate further.

Odie’s eyes met Sam’s in a question. He confirmed, “They’re real.”

Cas intoned “And they’re kind of dicks.” Which was the cue for all of them to fall out laughing hysterically as Cas tilted his head in confusion. “What? They are!” he protested. “My Dad, for starters,” and would have gone on but Odie turned eyes as big as saucers on him. 

“How ancient are you, exactly?”

Sam cut this line of questioning off at the pass. “Never mind that now. Do you think this has something to do with your mom?”

Odie gritted her jaw at him. Her eyes skated to the family photo above the kitchen table. It was her tell. Sam tried his best sympathetic look out on her, but she didn’t soften in the slightest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But if we’re going to solve this, we need to know.”

“Trust is earned, not given, Sam.”

Sam stood, pushing his chair out from the table. “You wanna do tit for tat?” Sam raised his voice. “Okay, how’s this for exchange of information?” 

Sam pointed at Cas. “He’s an angel of the lord. Pulled my brother out of hell, defied heaven, fell to Earth, tried to be God, was possessed by Leviathan, went nuts and then went to purgatory. Oh, and he was possessed by Lucifer, and came back from the dead a bunch of times including earlier this year.” Odie’s striken face didn’t stop Sam.

“That guy? My brother?” Sam waved an arm at Dean, who was sitting, arms crossed, as Sam had his tantrum. “Died hundreds of times. Dealt with the devil. Was a demon for a while. He abandoned a family once to protect them from the life. He gave up everything for me and raised me and all I’ve ever tried to do is get away from him and hunting. He’s also been torn up over this dead asshole” Sam indicated Cas, who was chewing a tortilla chip slowly “for the better part of the last year, heck, probably longer, so I hope homophobia’s not a thing here.” Sam ignored the sound of Dean choking on his beer and whirled on Odie, who shrank back in the face of this onslaught.

“Me?” Sam indicated himself with a hand. “I’m basically a monster. Unclean. A demon’s blood in my veins and the devil in my head. I’m a recovering addict. I housed an angel for a bit, he was a real dick. Oh, I lost my soul for a while. That was fun. Went to hell and was nuttier than a fruitcake for a long time after that. I’ve got daddy, mommy, brother, and grandfather issues a hundred years of therapy couldn’t come close to fixing.” 

Sam circled Odie’s chair, arms wide. “So that’s me. That’s our skeletons. Not even close to all of ‘em.” He dropped his arms. “You say trust is earned? I’d trust you with anything, Odie.” Sam knelt by her chair so their eyes were level. “It’s only been a couple of days but I  _ know _ you. And you know me.” He cautiously reached a hand to her cheek. “Your past doesn’t matter. No matter how many skeletons are in your family’s closet, it’s not even close to the catacombs we Winchesters have got in our walk-in.”

Odie’s lip trembled by Sam’s thumb. He eyes glistened as tears pooled, but didn’t fall. She nodded at him, breathing deeply. “Hank helped me perform a ritual last night.” 

Cas squinted at her. “Obeah?” he asked. Dean looked up, curiously.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Magic.” Sam moved from Odie’s side to put his hands face down on the table, trying to calm his brother. “Odie’s father practiced it. It’s a form of voodoo from the West African tradition.”

“Magic?” Dean asked, incredulously. “What, is she, like, a witch?!” Dean’s lip curled in disgust and Sam raised both hands in a defensive posture. 

Odie didn’t require his protection, though. “Yes.” she stated baldly. “I sometimes perform witchcraft in the service of hunting, as does, may I remind you, your brother.” Dean sputtered but she rolled over him. 

“As I was saying, Hank and I performed a ritual to call upon the spirits of the dead. We called upon my parents, but they didn’t come.”

Cas nodded in slow understanding. “Which means their souls aren’t available to be called upon.”

The tears did break the thin ridge of Odie’s lower lid then, splashing down one cheek, then the other. “Elena-my mum-was a respected midwife. She often advised women who wanted to conceive children to pray to Ixchel so she would grant them babies. She was said to grant prayers during the rainy season, and if a rainbow appeared, it was a sign of her blessing upon you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I always thought they were just stories. Mum would always tell them Ixchel wanted them to do things that were just good things for women who wanted to get pregnant to do-you know-stay healthy and eat well, all of that. She would never have hurt anyone!” Odie’s voice rose at the end, pleading with her eyes that they share her faith in Elena Panti’s goodness.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the table in front of him. “That’d explain all the rainbows we’ve been seeing around the resort. Ixchel’s ‘blessings.’” He turned to Odie. “I found out more about Dr. Lea from that Lana at the resort. She’s a live wire, that one!” He reflected with a sigh while Cas crossed his arms across his chest, clearing his throat. 

Dean returned from his reverie. “Apparently Dr. Lea’s not native at all, not even from Belize. She’s some California quack. A new-age wanna-be spiritual self-help junkie. Instead of joining scientology or starting a new MLM scheme she decided to move here for some reason.” Dean gave Odie a small smile. Sam recognized it as the peace offering it was meant to be. Dean probably didn’t believe Elena Panti wasn’t a part of this somehow, but he was trying to make her feel better, and that meant a lot to Sam. 

“I actually got some background on her back from the hunter network there after Cas left this morning.” added Sam. “She went to some mail-order colleges for psychology and was in massive debt from student loans. She couldn’t get licensed and was busted for practicing illegally, calling herself a “therapist” when she wasn’t. She declared personal bankruptcy. Her husband was leaving her.” 

Sam moved the cursor on his laptop, flipping to another screen with the report that was sent to him. “Moving here was their Hail Mary. They bought the Stone Jaguar and it started making money right away. But her husband left her anyway.”

Dean’s head snapped up. “What, he didn’t want to stick around for the luxury and fortune?”

Sam gave a grim smile. “I called him this morning. He said Dr. Lea is a total maniac. He accused her of being manipulative and emotionally abusive. Says she’s a malignant narcissist and a couple of countries away isn’t far enough.”

“Wow,” said Dean. “He say anything about Ixchel?” 

Sam shook his head in the negative. “That’s all I could get out of him before he hung up. Said his ‘real’ therapist told him the only way to get her out of his life was to go ‘no contact’ with her, whatever that means.”

“Probably exactly what it sounds like,” said Cas, reasonably. “The real question is, how is she picking the couple that goes missing? And what is she doing to them?”

The small group fell silent, the remains of their lunch attracting flies from the open windows. Sam took a swig of his now-stale beer. It was bitter on his tongue, like the unanswered questions that hung heavily in the room.


	17. Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean attend the couples retreat's 'graduation ceremony'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess which 10% of the story I hadn't written when I began posting? We're getting there, but it may be stop-and-go as I figure out what I want to do with all the outstanding story threads here. I promise I won't abandon this WIP! 
> 
> "Endings are Hard" - Chuck

_ Like a worm on a hook _ , thought Dean as he hung from the bottom of a knotted rope. A slick rock face stretched above. Dangling here, he felt like exactly the bait he and Cas were; trekking to the retreat’s ‘graduation’ to hopefully bait Dr. Lea/Ixchel into targeting them. Then: gankage. Easy peasy.

Except for this hike. Jesus, he was out of shape.  _ Gotta lay off the cheeseburgers _ , Dean thought. Even the old couple from California was kicking his ass. His palm slipped on the rope, slippery with sweat and humidity from the rainforest. 

Cas’ head poked out over the ledge above, looking for all the world like an inquisitive bird. “Dean?” came his deep voice. “Do you need assistance?”

His voice sounded concerned, but normal. His behavior had been, in every way, completely unremarkable. He didn’t remark on their ‘morning delight’ at the resort when they met the retreat participants for the final ceremony. He sat, seemingly bored, shoulder barely touching Dean’s on the bus ride to the national park. He exchanged sparse words with Dean on the hike, mainly to check supplies and Dean’s physical safety.

“I’m fine” came Dean’s irritated response, through gritted teeth. When he reached the ledge, he swatted Cas’ hand away and caught up with the group, trailing behind a hungover Lana and Jason. Whatever he had been expecting for a morning-after with Cas, it wasn’t this polite indifference. Dean was actually beginning to wonder if he dreamed the whole thing, if it weren’t for his lack of a hangover.

It’s not that Dean was insecure, per se, he reflected as he trudged, unseeing, through the jungle. It’s not like he wanted to sit down and talk about their relationship and what they were now, or anything like that. He just had always imagined that if he acted on this thing between him and Cas that they would definitely, for sure, be a couple.

Dean stopped to unscrew his water bottle. Cas walked by without a glance. Dean gaped after the angel. Jason hovered near Lana, guiding her with a gentle hand at the small of her back around a stump in the trail. 

Is that what Dean wanted? Coddling? No way. 

He picked up speed, traipsing ahead of the group. His chest and legs paid the price but out in front he could clear his head and not have to observe loving couples or an unaffected Cas.

No, he didn’t want Cas to hold his hand and hack at the underbrush with his angel blade like some sort of prince charming. Dean didn’t need a promise ring. That’s not what had his lips pressed together so hard they blanched white.

It was probably just the sex, Dean told himself. It had been ages since Dean had anything holding the promise of more than a one-night stand. Getting any sort of action with a partner who had a chance of sticking around flipped the script in a pretty serious way. And the fact that it had pretty much been the best sex Dean had ever had, even without anyone getting penetrated, probably didn’t help.

And why was that, exactly? Dean was pretty sure it had something to do with the depth of his feelings for Cas. Having a relationship built on trust and intimacy was not his usual M.O. with his hook-ups. Something sticky tickled his nose and mouth, saving Dean from further reflection on that truth. He flailed comically, rubbing at the glue-like strands of spiderweb covering his face. 

Cas appeared by his side and took Dean’s face in his hands. His blue eyes bore into Dean’s. “Hold still” he intoned. Cas’ hand drifted up to Dean’s hair and Dean’s breath caught in his throat, expecting a kiss. Cas drew his hand back, showing Dean the spider he had extricated from his hair. Gently, Cas set it among the plants and placidly walked past Dean on the trail.

Fucking nature. Dean was a man of simple pleasures. A little beer. Some pool or darts. Good tunes. A nice drive in a great car. But these health nuts could keep this North Face, Columbia bullshit. A spider, for Christ’s sake!

The murmur of conversation among the group dwindled in inverse proportion to the steepness of the hike. The only sounds were their footfalls on the forest floor, pants of exhaustion, and the distant roar of a waterfall. 

At the base of a steep rock face, Dr. Lea stopped and held up a hand. “We are now about to enter the last phase of our journey here together at the Stone Jaguar.” Her haughty gaze fell on each couple. Dean chewed the inside of his cheek to avoid further eye-rolling. This hack really took herself seriously. 

“You and your partner have worked so hard this past weekend,” she praised them, more than a little condescending. “You’ve learned to trust. And you’ve deepened your intimacy.” She gave a small smile to each couple in turn, a sickening twist of the mouth. 

In the clear light of day, Dean could now see the sallow pallor of her complexion, and the way her frown lines hung in sharp relief about her artificially plumped lips. Her dark hair hung lank in the tropical humidity. Her body, all sharp angles except her obvious implants, seemed caved in upon itself. Dean couldn’t believe he had ever found her beautiful. Whether her glamour stemmed from Ixchel’s influence or lack thereof, he couldn’t determine.

“But now, as our time here together comes to a close,” she continued, “it’s time to strengthen the third leg of the relationship stool.”

Dean couldn’t help it. A derisive snort escaped before Cas’ iron grip was at the back of his neck, silencing and warning him all in one strong motion. Dean gulped. 

'Dr.' Lea continued, unphased. “Commitment is what makes a relationship stick. Petty fights and disagreements are easier to weather if you both know they don’t signal the end of your partnership.” The other couples smiled and nodded, some of them exchanging fond glances. Dean tensed, feeling Cas’ unyielding fingers at his neck.

The charlatan psychologist pinned Jason and Lana in her sights. “I know some of you don’t believe in marriage, and that’s fine.” Lana poked Jason in his soft stomach. He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. “Legal, religious, and cultural pacts or contracts are just window dressing,” Lea dismissed. “What I’m talking about is a real commitment borne of desire: your desire to be bound to one another. Without this binding, you can have all the intimacy and trust in the world and your relationship will fail.” She ended on a stern note, looking once again the ‘sexy librarian’ version of herself Dean remembered from the beginning of their retreat.

“Not everyone wants a successful relationship. That’s your choice.” Dean tensed his jaw. This fucking manipulative bitch and her passive aggression reminded him too much of Lucifer. Once burned, and all that. Lea waved at the knotted rope next to her. “If you do want to be happy, then climb this rope when I invite you up, and I’ll perform an ancient commitment ritual, passed down to me by the village elders.” 

Dean’s teeth were now gritted so hard he was sure he was losing enamel.  _ Village elders, my ass. _ This Californian just got here and was messing with shit way above her pay grade. Cas’ fingers tightened again in a subtle deterrent to the violence Dean felt roiling underneath the surface of his skin.

Meanwhile, the counterfeit counselor hauled her frail frame up the rope. Standing over them at the top of the ledge, she said “Who’s ready to enter this sacred space?” She spread her arms like a priestess. 

A couple of aging baby boomers, ex-hippies who settled into a ‘green’ lifestyle in California, exchanged a glance and stepped forward. Lea nodded, pleased. “Very well. Climb up and undress completely. Then swim through the pool where I’ll be waiting for you behind the waterfall.”

A buzz of protest began to swell from the small crowd at “undress completely.” Lea put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at them imperiously. “There’s no need to be immature,” she lectured. “Some of us are simply more comfortable with our bodies than others. If you’ve been taught to be ashamed, that’s your baggage to deal with. But for this ritual, you must be nude.” Dean shrugged out of Cas’ hand and exchanged a significant look. No clothes meant no weapons.

Meanwhile, the hippie couple stepped forward eagerly. “Nothing we didn’t do at Woodstock!” joked the man, his balding dome emerging above a ring of long grey hair like a mountaintop erupting through the mist. His partner winked back at them as she scurried up the rope, surprisingly spry for a woman who had undergone two knee replacements the prior year. Her significant other followed, and they heard him yell, “Wait for me, Nancy!” as their giggles and splashes were drowned out by the sound of the waterfall.

Cas turned to Dean with a very clear “what the fuck?” face. Dean just shrugged. The couples around them waited in varying degrees of discomfort until Nancy and her old man reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair wet, clothing damp. When they asked what it was like they simply shook their heads. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Nancy said. She positively glowed. They held hands as they disappeared down the trail. 

Lea fetched the couples one by one, and each set returned as ecstatic as the first. Dean and Cas waited, looking for any sign of a couple not touched by the proceedings. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing went wrong. Even the party girl Lana and her commitment-phobic Jason returned entwined in one another, reverent and uncharacteristically quiet.

Now only Dean and Cas remained. Lea waited at the top of the outcropping. “Ready?” she asked.

Dean rolled his shoulders and began to climb. He flopped onto his stomach, gasping, at the top. The stunning beauty of the placid cerulean water juxtaposed with the dense verdant jungle momentarily distracted him from the potential danger. Cas followed, climbing easily with his angel strength, and made his exit more gracefully than Dean’s. Cas saw a monkey hooting at them nearby and gave it a quizzical smile. Then he reached down and pulled Dean up. Toeing off his slip-on sneakers, Cas began to undress without warning. Dean hurriedly looked away before realizing that was both out of character for their cover and also kind of ridiculous considering what they had done this morning.

“Kinda hard to put the horse back in the barn, huh?” joked Dean. It fell a little flat as Cas dropped his swim shorts without preamble and waded into the still water. Despite the tense situation, Dean felt his tongue stick in his mouth at the curve of Cas’ perfectly formed ass rising just above the flat surface of the water. 

“Dean?” Cas turned slightly to look back at him. Dean shook himself mentally, and stripped down quickly. Cas’ blase reaction didn’t exactly bolster Dean’s confidence, and he splashed into the water as quickly as possible to cover his lower half. 

“Ready to go get fake married?” Dean’s voice sounded weird to his own ears; unnaturally high and wavy. Cas gave him a baleful look and swam away. Pushing the water away with his powerful shoulders, he easily beat Dean but waited for him outside the waterfall, treading water. They briefly locked eyes. It wasn’t clear if Lea would be above to hear them over the rushing water, so no words were exchanged, but Dean knew Cas’ “be careful” look anywhere. He nodded once and they ducked under the water.

There, Lea floated in a gauzy white dress. Her form was completely visible through the wet fabric, but Dean felt no arousal at the sight of her pebbled nippes. She was ethereally still, and Dean noted she was tall enough to touch the bottom of the small alcove. 

“Face one another and grasp wrists,” Lea ordered without preamble. Cas gripped Dean’s arm just above the wrist with that damn strength and Dean’s chest tightened in reflex. A second later, he allowed his fingers to relax into the touch, smoothing against Cas’ firm forearm. Goddamn.

The sham therapist produced a snake from a hole in the rock behind her and wound it about their wrists. Cas raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. 

Dean felt strangely detached, as if he were watching himself from very far away. He couldn’t sense any sign of Ixchel, and was too distracted by Cas to think of much else. The overwhelming longing that had resided in him for the better part of ten years pulled him, inexorably, to whatever feeling was being woven between them. Their hands and arms locked together felt right,  _ good _ , warm, and the snake, which should have been freaking him the fuck out, was the best kind of restraint, smooth and strong. Dean felt linked to Cas, bound, even. What was scary was how it didn’t bother him, not even one bit.

“Now hold out your other hand.” Lea instructed. Cas and Dean held their unbound hands out over the surface of the water. 

A blanket of calm settled over Dean. He looked into Cas’ eyes, dancing in the reflected sunlight glinting off the water’s surface. Droplets from the waterfall’s mist collected on his dark lashes. His pink lips were drawn into a frown. Dean didn’t care, though. 

Dimly, he registered motion as Dr. Lea produced a black ritual vase etched with Ixchel’s symbol.  “I have called an ancient spirit from deep in the ocean to shine her fortune upon you” she said, retaining the florid language of pseudo-spiritual western appropriation even as the air around them grew heavy with supernatural static. "I will pour water into your hand. Offer it to your partner. If you accept this bond and Ixchel’s blessing, drink the water from his hand.”

Dean’s eyes remained locked to Cas’ as water, warmer than that from the waterfall, was poured into his cupped hand. Unblinking, he raised his hand to Cas’ mouth.  _ Bound _ echoed in Dean’s head, the word hooked into the longing in his core like a parasite. Cas’ frown deepened and his brows knitted together. His lips parted, tongue snaking out to wet them, though they shone with moisture from the damp surrounding them. Dean held his breath.

“We can’t,” Cas broke into the silence, fingers reaching up to pry Dean’s hand away, spilling the ocean water into the fresh pool around them. Dean blinked lazily.  _ What? _

“What?” the dumb question fell from his mouth. “Why not?” Dean’s voice shook. To his left, he could see Dr. Lea, ashen and looking as stricken as he felt. 

Cas had already released whatever water Lea had poured into his hand, so he thrust his other palm out to rest on Dean’s flank under the water, trying to soothe him. Cas’ eyes were pleading. “Dean. You know why. We cannot do this.” Cas sounded firm. Reasonable. Calm. 

None of which reflected how Dean felt. Distantly, he recognized the familiar weight and pull of magic. But he didn’t care. The long-dreaded rejection felt twice as painful after what they had shared earlier the same day. It also felt disgustingly  _ right _ . Fair, deserved, even. Dean felt the curl and twist of shame deep within him. Of course Cas wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ be bound to someone like him. Obviously.

Lea grabbed at their hands still bound by the snake. “Please!” she cried, holding the black pottery jar at the ready to resume the ritual. “Please reconsider,” she pleaded, all authority gone from her tone. Her eyes were wide and scared. “Just give Ixchel your bond and she will bless you. You must believe me.” Her eyes darted between the two men, panicky. 

Cas carefully unwound the snake and returned it to her. “We’re just not ready,” he intoned sadly. Dean felt the words like a physical blow. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reveling in the pain. Flipped the little switch inside from hurt to anger. 

When he opened his eyes he gave Lea a brilliant grin and winked. “I always told this one he’d never lock me down,” Dean said. “I was born a ramblin’ man, right angel?” Dean gave Cas an obnoxious wink without actually meeting his eye. 

Cas’ nostrils flared. “Let’s get out of here, Dean,” For the first time all afternoon, Cas was showing signs of strong emotion and it looked like anger, but Dean couldn’t understand why, when Cas was the one leaving him high and dry after rutting him senseless and then ignoring him all afternoon. He really needed to punch something. 

Dean’s asshole brain was on board with this plan. That’s probably why, even though Cas’ demeanor brooked no argument, Dean found himself arguing. “I’m fine here.” he said, smirking suggestively at the main suspect in their investigation. “The view’s gorgeous” Dean smiled at her. She didn’t return it, pleading with them both silently, her lips pinched and grim. “Company’s better, too.” Dean tipped his chin defiantly at Cas. He was just straight up lying now, and Cas could smell his bullshit from a mile away.

Cas turned courteously to Dr. Lea, murmuring “excuse us” before bodily hauling Dean through the waterfall to the outside. He dragged Dean a few feet away, not allowing the hunter to get his feet under him. 

By the time he yanked Dean above the surface of the water, sputtering and choking underneath the open sky, Dean’s head was relatively clear. Without the incessant buzz of the whatever magic they had been weaving behind the waterfall, Dean felt embarrassed and needy. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes to dislodge water and tears prickling there, tension building between his eyes and at the back of his throat.

Cas’ arm clamped down on Dean’s wrist to enact a purposeful retreat. Dean half-swam, half-let-himself-be-dragged across the small pond until they reached the far side by the rock wall. Dean remained on his hands and knees in the water, more tired than he had any right to be, feeling older than he had ever felt before. He stared down at the drip of water falling from the tip of his nose. 

“It was obviously dark magic.” Cas’ voice, both rough and soft, was accompanied by a hand holding Dean’s swim trunks. 

Dean detachedly stood to pull them on, unseeing. “Right. Obviously” he agreed. His hands trembled as he pulled his shirt and shoes on, not bothering to dry himself first.

Dean shimmied down the rope. He stumbled and slipped down the rocks, not waiting to see if Cas followed. Cas’ voice behind him haltingly asked “Dean? Did you actually want me to-”

“No!” Dean stopped so quickly Cas ran into his back. Dean bit his bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I mean, it was the magic.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s why…” Dean sighed, frustrated, gave up, and walked off. He sensed Cas’ confused stare on his retreating form, but couldn’t gather the courage to look back. 


	18. Blood of the Anaconda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas deals with the fallout of his refusal to perform the commitment ritual with Dean, and Sam and Odie look for ways to slow Ixchel down.

_I want love to walk right up and bite me_

_Grab a hold of me and fight me leave me dying on the ground._

_And I want love to, split my mouth wide open and_

_Cover up my ears and never let me hear a sound._

Cas stared out the window at the orange groves speeding by. Dean’s leg and shoulder pressed into his on the narrow bus seat. The hunter’s warmth stood in contrast to his cool demeanor. He had responded with monosyllabic grunts to Cas’ overtures at peacemaking. Dean obviously had been hurt by Cas’ refusal to complete whatever bonding spell Dr. Lea had been attempting to cast upon them.

The truly unfair part was that the ritual had dangled Cas’ greatest desire in front of his eyes, just out of reach. But no. Cas had fought too hard for the right to control his own path. Never again would he succumb to another’s will. Nor would he accept Dean on any other terms. He flatly refused to let Dean make any commitment or declaration to him borne of magic.

The obvious strain between the men sharpened in relief compared to the other couples on the resort’s bus. All were quietly intimate, locked in lover’s gazes. Murmurs of heartfelt declarations filled the vehicle. Dean remained silent. Cas swallowed.

A tap at his leg pulled Cas’ attention. Dean waved his cell phone above his lap. He flicked his eyes significantly toward Dr. Lea, sitting solitary and damp at the front of the bus. Cas nodded, accepting both the warning at silence and the phone. The screen showed a text conversation with Sam.

 

_ Lea is a maniac but at least right now she’s not Ixchel.  _

_ You sure? _

_ Cas got no goddess-dar readings. Also, her hair got wet and she didn’t have cat ears so… _

_ Ok. Good thing you didn’t gank her if she’s still partly human. Or human part of the time. Who’s the targeted couple? _

_ Pretty sure it’s us. Graduation was some magical commitment ceremony, and Cas and I refused to tie the knot. The ‘Dr’ seemed desperate to hook my ball to Cas’ chain, if you know what I mean. _

_ We always know what you mean, Dean. _

 

Cas smiled as Sam’s dry humor came through the typed words. He looked to see if Dean shared the joke, but Dean was averting his gaze, drumming his fingers on his knee. Cas suppressed a sigh.

 

_ Ok. If she follows pattern, whatever she’s doing will go down in your room tonight. _

_ And we don’t know what she does, how she does it, or how to stop her. Awesome. _

_ Odie is checking a source for how to stop her. As soon as she gets back, we’ll come there and be backup. _

_ Sure. Whatever. Fine. _

 

Cas nudged Dean’s arm to return the phone. Dean took it without acknowledging the angel. Dean’s leg bounced as he hummed a discordant tune. When the bus bounced to a stop in front of the Stone Jaguar resort, Dean fled first, lanky limbs pulling him down the aisle past Dr. Lea and the Driver before the squeaky doors unfolded. The other couples disembarked slowly, giving Cas looks of sympathy between their own heart eyes and clasped hands.

\----------------------

Sam put his phone down after processing his brother’s terse reply. 

“Trouble in paradise?” asked Odie in response to whatever Sam’s face was doing. He sighed and popped open the Beliken she slid across the table. 

“Dean and Cas are Ixchel’s probable victims because they refused to bond or something. Turns out playing a pretend couple sucks when you’re not actually quite a couple but maybe, kinda-sorta, want to be” Sam said. 

Odie narrowed her eyes at him. “Wasn’t this whole thing your idea in the first place?” Well. That was just unfair. And true.

Sam scoffed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I thought it’d be, you know, funny!” Odie crossed her arms across her chest. “Or, like, help them get over the hump.” He grimaced at his unfortunate turn of phrase as Odie burst out laughing like a hyena. “It did, too!” He protested weakly.

Odie retreated with her beer to the open doorway to gaze at the ocean, gently ruffling Sam’s hair as she passed. Sam’s heart clenched as he realized the motion didn’t make him cringe. Normally, people doting on him made him feel weak, childish. Odie’s comfort never seemed patronizing. 

“So how do you kill a god?” she mused over the green glass of the bottle, eyes focused on the distant surf.

Sam cleared his throat. “We, uh, actually have some experience in that area.”

Odie rounded on him with round eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” Her full lips quirked into a teasing smile. “The famous Winchester brothers!”

Sam tried to rearrange his feet under the table, but they got tangled. “So, anyway,” he continued, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt, “We usually need the wood of some tree, dipped in the blood of something. If the recipe stays consistent, a virgin’ll usually do the trick.”

Odie opened her mouth with a smirk, clearly preparing a joke about one or both of their sexual experience, but the look fell off her face as she turned thoughtful.

“In the Mayan tradition, the Ya’axche tree is revered as the most sacred. Could that work?” she wondered aloud.

Sam shrugged. “You’re the expert.” he said. “I trust your judgement,” he added. “Is it hard to find?”

Odie shook her braids, making the shells adorning them click lightly. “Not at all,” she replied. “I’ve actually got some here for rituals.” She rummaged in a small trunk and produced a short length of tree limb. 

Sam nodded approvingly. He pulled a knife out of his boot, twirling it to see the gleam in Odie’s eyes. “Shall I do the honors of carving while you find a virgin?” 

She chuckled. “As if I’d set you upon the village’s maidens!” She sighed, eyes wandering again to her family’s photo behind Sam’s head. “I just can’t believe Ixchel would be weakened by them. She traditionally helps them.” She closed her eyes, remembering Elena’s midwifery work, no doubt. “Fertility, childbirth...if anything, virginal blood would be a sacrifice to garner her favor, not to harm her.” She opened her eyes again. 

“So…” Sam began slowly, “what’s her kryptonite?”

Odie paced around the table and put her hands on the back of the chair opposite Sam. She bit her lip, thinking. “The anaconda,” she stated firmly.

“The snake?” Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow, pausing mid-stroke as he hacked at the Ya’axche branch to form a stake.

“It’s her natural enemy as a jaguar. Other than man, it’s the only predator they fear.” Odie talked with her hands, becoming excited.

Sam grinned. “Now tell me you’ve got some anaconda blood in stock so we don’t have to go catch a snake” 

Odie returned his smile with added smugness. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, Sam? Any practitioner of Obeah worth her salt has the blood of an anaconda on hand.”

Sam dropped his knife and the branch with a clatter and kicked out his chair. In a blink, he was crushing Odie to his chest in a hug. She flung her arms around his waist and they shared a moment of celebration. “I could kiss you!” Sam declared, stupidly. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the words back in his mouth.

Odie pulled back from his chest but kept her arms wrapped around his waist. He squinted through one eye to gauge her reaction. She was still smiling but it was softer, and her eyes twinkled. “Okay,” she agreed. “But keep it PG. We’re kind of on the clock here.”

The silence gathering around them as Sam captured her face in his hands. He stroked her cheek, flushed a deep red beneath her dark skin as he ducked his head down to her level. She tilted her chin up and parted her lips. He ran a thumb across the bottom one softly before closing his eyes and pressing his own lips to hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What sacrifice do readers accept for leaving them hanging for a super long time? No virgin blood here but I've got Costco Margarita Mix and some leftover hot dogs? No?


	19. Shower Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to revert to old patterns. But things are different now.

Dean slammed the cabana door behind him. He kicked off his muddy sandals, taking in the room, once again festooned with the trappings of romance. He paused to itch a mosquito bite on his leg. The spray he’d worn had long washed off. The lingering damp from the waterfall pool, the swamp ass from the strenuous hike, and the streaks of mud criss-crossing his body had him feeling like no amount of showers could get him clean.

 

And the self-hatred that sat in the pit of his stomach didn’t help.

 

Shrugging internally, Dean dropped his swim trunks and peeled off his disgusting t-shirt, dropping them next to his sandals just inside the door. Pausing only to grab the bottle of champagne from its next next to the bed strewn with orange flowers, he made a beeline for the shower.

 

As he waited for the water to heat up, he fought a brief battle with the champagne’s cork. Victorious, he took a long swig, then wrinkled his nose at the bubbled that lodged there. It was no rotgut whiskey, that’s for sure. 

 

He stepped under the showerhead and sighed, hanging his head to stretch his protesting neck muscles. This fucking day seemed unfairly long. He woke with a hangover, hooked up with his best friend, did a little casework at Odie’s, then topped it all off with a strenuous hike in the jungle followed by an aborted magical spell.

 

The emotional whiplash hurt as much as the physical strain. Dean felt as though he had lived a lifetime in the last few hours. On the bus, he had come to the realization that they really had screwed things up by making their love declarations in the morning. Any idiot knew you did shit like that at night. Then you took them to bed and banged like bunnies, followed by some cuddling, or at minimum, passing out. Maybe had some morning nookie to eradicate any awkwardness. 

 

That’s how he had always pictured it goin down, at least. This day had gone all wrong from the moment they left the cabana to meet Sam and Odie. Cas acted like nothing had happened at all, and Dean hated it. It prickled under his skin, itching the insecurity he’d felt from the moment he realized his feelings for the angel. 

 

Dean coughed as more bubbles spurted down the wrong pipe. Half the bottle down. It left a sickly sweet aftertaste. As long as it got the job done.

 

The plan came together as he soaped himself under the water’s spray. Shower, drink, avoid Cas, find companionship at the bar, then come back near midnight to face down Ixchel and gank her ass.

 

Solid plan, as far as Dean was concerned. 

 

He scrubbed his hair with shampoo then closed his eyes, letting the water beat down on his face. 

 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice startled Dean, who opened his eyes to the immediate sting of shampoo.

 

“Shit!” cried Dean. He scrambled to rinse his eyes, turning to hide his nudity from the angel standing outside the glass shower door. Realizing the futility of the action, he instead focused on soothing his eyeballs, muttering the entire time. 

 

When his vision was finally restored, Dean took in the sight of Cas leaning on the sink, swigging from the champagne bottle. Cas was regarding him with a familiar intensity; a deceptive veneer of calm stretched thin over barely-controlled power.

 

Dean swallowed. 

 

“What?” He asked. His belligerent tone wavered a bit as Cas’ gaze roved down his body through the steam-clouded door. 

 

“What’s the game plan?” asked Cas. His legs were casually crossed at the ankle, his thighs firm and thick in his swim trunks. Dean swallowed again, because his mouth wasn’t getting the memo.

 

Dean faked a nonchalant shrug. “Figured I’d shower,” he waved an arm as if to indicate, duh, hello, shower, “drink that” he shot eyes at the green glass bottle, now hanging loosely from Cas’ long fingers at the end of one arm, “And hit up Lance at the bar.” Dean finished with his back turned to Cas, rushing through the end of his sentence.

 

He turned slightly to cut the water and dry off, but Cas’ arm appeared out of nowhere, shooting past Dean to press a palm firmly to the tile wall.

 

Cas’ voice was in his ear. “Why would you want to do that, Dean?” His tone was reasonable. He didn’t touch Dean, but he stood close enough that the spray ricocheted off his body onto the hunter. 

 

Dean turned his head to the side. He registered that somehow, Cas had stripped and gotten in the shower with him in the space of a breath. 

 

“Hank said the broken hearted half of the couple hooked up with Lance, right?” Dean’s answer came out weaker than he intended. Cas hummed behind him. Dean continued in defiance of any common sense, the scratchy itch of abandonment hot and nasty at the back of his brain: “and it’s not like you care what I do.”

 

Cas didn’t actually move, or do anything observable to Dean. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the small cubicle tightened and shifted. For one tense (and secretly exciting) moment, Dean feared he was about to be shoved up against the wall with Cas’ hand plastered to his mouth. Again.

 

Instead, Cas’ hand slipped off the wall, and a dull thunk echoed in the room. Dean finally looked at him directly. Cas had stepped away, and was pulling his hair with one hand. His forehead rested against the tile, where he had apparently literally beat his head against the wall.

 

“Cas?” Dean said, tentatively touching him on the shoulder. 

 

Cas looked up and fixed Dean with those clear eyes, droplet of water hanging off his dark lashes. “Dean Winchester,” he intoned, “You are the most infuriating man I have ever known.”

 

“What?” Dean scoffed.

 

Cas threw up his hands. “I have tried to be patient. Heaven knows, I’ve waited for you to come around.” He spun in a small circle, limbs catching Dean as he turned. “And I think finally,  _ finally _ , you’re ready to be with me.” He caught his wet hair in both hands, clearly exasperated. “I’m a strategist. I know about prudence. So I tried to behave normally. I didn’t want to push you faster than you were ready. I know the tighter a prize is grasped, the more likely it is to slip through your fingers. ”

 

Dean sputtered a bit at “prize.” Surely Cas wasn’t talking about him?

 

“But I swear I will grip you tight and try to shake some sense into you if you keep insisting on letting your fears blind you to what’s right in front of your face!” Cas was shouting now, and had crowded Dean back up against the wall. The water rained between their bodies, chest almost touching. They were both breathing heavily, their lips scant inches apart.

 

Dean felt the words like a battering ram to the door of his heart. He’d been so busy worrying about Cas rejecting him he hadn’t realized he was rejecting Cas. In other words, he was making his fear of abandonment a self-fulfilling prophecy.

 

Dean reached out and hauled Cas to him, kissing him with every ounce of longing he had felt all afternoon. It had only been hours since they had been together physically, but it felt like another lifetime.

 

Their bodies pressed together in a firm line. Dean licked at Cas’ lips, plunging in with abandon when he was admitted entrance. His goal now was to show Cas with every kiss, every touch, exactly how much the angel meant to him. 

 

Cas, for his part, seemed done with patience and prudence. He responded with abandon to Dean’s kisses, his hands everywhere; twining in Dean’s hair, smoothing down his shoulders and back, cupping his ass, raking up his chest.

 

Dean was debating whether or not to brave the acrobatics and slip-and-fall hazards of shower sex when a loud knock boomed from the front door to their cabana.

 

“Ignore it,” Cas growled, catching Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth. Dean (and little Dean) were in full agreement until a female voice rang out over the white noise of the shower.

 

“It’s Dr. Lea. I need to speak to you now. Please!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet because I've got a battle scene to write! Sorry for cockblocking.


	20. Who Trapped Whom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas, Dean, Sam, and Odie battle the final boss. The villain monologues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy typos, batman! Re-reading my last 2 chapters it's been messy. I apologize. I'm so excited at getting back to this story and past the block that I've been rushing so hopefully the errors aren't too distracting. I do plan to go back and edit the last couple of entries this week.
> 
> ALSO! CW in this chapter for narcissistic personality disorder, narcissistic abuse. In case you haven't been able to tell up to this point, Dr. Lea is based on a person in my past and getting back into that headspace has been kinda hard for me. If you are struggling with this or have struggled with it be aware it's a theme in this chapter. For me, writing this has been somewhat cathartic tho;)
> 
> Finally, this is NOT the last chapter! We have at least three more. One of those will be a smutty smutfest. At least as much as I can muster myself to try to write anything beyond a PG-13 rating.

Cas and Dean dried perfunctorily while Lea continued her insistent knocking at their cabana door. Cas wrapped himself in the soft terrycloth robe emblazoned with the Stone Jaguar resort logo. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean slip into his matching white robe, cinching it firmly about his waist before nodding once at Cas to open the door.

She entered their room, long hair dripping from the afternoon rain. She looked like a drowned rat, her plump lips pinched and her manner twitchy.

“You two need to re-think this.” Her voice was tremulous. “It’s not too late for you to commit.” She paced between the two men stationed by the bed and the window. She lifted her chin arrogantly at Cas. “You have the power to shape your own destiny.” She was still in therapist mode, clinging to the language of self-help.  _ She’s terrified, _ realized Cas.

“Nuh-uh” Challenged Dean, drawing her focus. “We’re done. I’m gonna go see if Lance is still interested in taking this baby for a test drive.” He winked obnoxiously at Lea. Cas edged toward his bag where his angel blade hid.

“No!” Her panic was real, yet she struggled to maintain her facade of control. “The couples I worked with who failed the course…” she searched for words “they did not succeed. I want to see you two succeed.” She finished smoothly.

“By succeed, do you mean ‘live’?” Asked Cas, after concealing his blade in his robe’s roomy sleeve. Lea turned toward him, face blanched in the late afternoon gloom of the tropical thunderstorm. Cas saw Dean back toward the desk where an iron blade sat under a pile of papers.

Her expression shifted as realization set in. “You’re not a real couple.” 

“And you’re not a real therapist,” countered Dean. “So how are you doing it? Are you Ixchel? Is she in there now?” Dean shuffled a few steps towards Cas as he spoke, his eyes never leaving Lea.

Her slow smile surprised Cas. He expected her to be contrite, but she swelled with pride. “I always knew I had wisdom to share with others. Unfortunately, my professors in college were threatened by my talent.”

Dean scoffed. “Is that what they call flunking out nowadays?”

Lea ignored him. “My students loans left me with crippling debt and no degree to show for it. I sought an environment where I could help others and utilize my talents, so I came to Belize. Here I could shine and live the lifestyle I deserved.”

Dean smirked. “Translation: she could practice without a license and avoid any charges here, which I’ll bet we’ll find in the states if we look hard enough.” he tossed off to Cas.

Her cheeks flushed bright red with anger. She moved as if to attack and Cas tensed, at the ready, but then she caught herself, realizing she was bracketed on both sides by the men. She shrugged. “I didn’t need a license to discover the local legend of Ixchel. I alone was resourceful enough to visit the waterfall and call upon her. The locals were too scared, but I, I figured out how to harness her power. She visited me in my dreams, promising riches, success, and of course my marriage to David was a shining example to all,” Lea bragged.

“Sure,” drawled Dean sarcastically.

Her eyes were bright now, shining as she recounted her success. “It worked, too! My retreat soared in popularity and we became very wealthy. Ixchel led me in my dreams to find a spell that would release her from the stone prison where she had been trapped.”

“You thought releasing her was a good idea?” Cas interrupted, incredulous.

Lea’s haughty attitude slipped for a moment. “David-” she began in a small voice, “didn’t enjoy our success the way I thought he would.” Dean snorted inelegantly behind her. “I thought, perhaps if we had a baby, he would see that we were destined to be together. He didn’t want children, but I knew once we were a family he could never leave me!” Her brown eyes flashed, wild, and Cas saw true madness there.

“You meant to force him to commit to you via a pregnancy he did not desire?” Cas’ face twisted in revulsion. 

“I don’t care what you think. You can’t possibly understand.” She tilted her head toward Dean, clearly deriding Cas and their relationship. Anger flashed hot and fast through Cas' blood. Dean’s voice cut through the red haze, and Cas remembered the play: keep her monologuing, get more information.

“So, you thought lying to your husband and making unilateral decisions about your family planning in defiance of his express wishes was the secret to a long and happy marriage?” Dean mocked. “Hard to believe that didn’t work out for you.”

Lea exploded in an instant. “It would have worked! He would have stayed!” she shrieked. “I was betrayed-used-by Ixchel. David left me and now…” she 

Cas inched toward the bed, angling his body between her and the door. “Gods are capricious assholes” he nodded sympathetically. 

“She owns your ass.” Dean concurred. “So you run the retreat and bring Ixchel couples to bless, and the ones that deny her bond become her sacrifices. How do you do it? Do you drag them back up to the waterfall or what?” Dean flipped his iron knife in one hand, stepping towards Lea.

“Oh, no,” Lea drawled. Her voice was suddenly unearthly resonant and Cas felt his stomach flip. Her posture straightened. Her hair was instantly dry and styled as if she had a blowout. Power radiated from her, making Cas’ hairs prickle on his arms. “There’s no need for that. Ixchel is here. She’s always with me.”

Cas rushed her back, aiming his angel blade for the heart. He ran into an invisible wall with all his angelic force he leveraged behind his attack and crashed to the ground in a pile of limbs.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, and threw his iron knife at her. It whistled through her chest and speared the cabin wall with a thunk. Dean’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. 

Lea flicked a hand at Dean and pinned him to the wall with unseen force. Cas rolled his eyes, flipped to his feet. Gods and goddesses really could be so predictable. He rallied another attack, this time physically tackling the body of the woman somehow inhabited by the goddess Ixchel. He succeeded in knocking her to the floor, which distracted her enough to release her hold on Dean. 

She shoved Cas off instantly. He slid across the floor and landed near the door. He looked up to see Ixchel’s face, shimmery and blue, superimposed on Lea’s. The terrifying visage echoed the representations the Mayan people had captured in their art. 

Her jaguar ears swiveled to where Dean scrabbled behind him for Cas’ angel blade. She sauntered over to him, twitching her tail, supernatural glowing bones adorning her white dress. She kneeled next to him as Cas struggled to rise against her power holding him in place.

“Oh, Dean,” she said, putting her hand on his face. Cas tried to scream but she was now silencing him with her power as well. He strained inside his mind, willing her to stop touching Dean with every fiber of his being. “You will be a worthy sacrifice. I will now consume your body and your soul.” The hunter pulled at her hand with both of his, kicking and squirming to get away, to no avail.

Her grotesque mouth somehow expanded into a long rectangle with large, rectangular teeth. The woman in front of them was being transformed in front of their eyes into a Mayan goddess. She leaned over Dean, mouth gaping even wider. Cas’ brain screamed, sending silent prayers to an empty Heaven.

The window above the table exploded with a crash. In a blur of tropical-print shorts and brown hair, Sam flew at Ixchel, knocking her off Dean. 

Simultaneously, Odie burst in the door of the cabana, nearly tripping over Cas as she lunged at Ixchel with a stake. Her aim was true, and with Sam still kneeling over Ixchel’s prone form, Odie stabbed her in the center of her chest. 

Blue shimmery magic slithered off of Lea’s body and exploded outward in a shock wave that knocked them all to the ground.

As soon as he could move again, Cas was half running, half crawling over to Dean, who was coughing and bleeding from small cuts where Ixchel’s claws had grazed his jaw and lip.

“Dean! Are you all right?” Cas cradled the hunter’s face with his hands in concern. Dean chuckled and reached up to pat his hands with one of his own. “I’m fine, man. Thanks to this moose.” He stabbed a thumb in his brother’s direction.

Sam had stood and was brushing glass out of his hair. “It was really all Odie,” he said. “I was just the distraction.”

“And damn distracting you were, at that.” said Odie, fond smile on her face. She kneeled next to Lea’s form on the floor. 

“Is she-?” Dean trailed off, sitting up with a grunt. 

Odie nodded in confirmation. “She’s dead.” She covered her face with a shaky hand. I’m sorry. I wish there was a way we could have done it without hurting Dr. Lea.”

Sam crouched beside her and enveloped her in a comforting hug.

“It sucks, but we get it,” said Dean. He stood, re-tying his robe, which had gotten mussed in the battle. Sam glared at his brother, judging the slightly insensitive comment.

Cas, remembering Sam’s support that morning, decided to give it a try. “She really wasn’t a very nice person.” he told Odie seriously. Three sets of eyes turned on him simultaneously. “What?” Cas said with indignation. “She wasn’t!”

Dean grasped Cas’ hand to pull him to standing. He clapped him on the back with a fond look. “Never change, man.” After a quick glance at his brother, who still had his arm around Odie, Dean caught Cas’ robe sash ties, reeled him in, and kissed him.


	21. Duppies

Sam was still picking glass shards out of his hair when Dean laid one on Cas, right in front of him and Odie. 

Damn. This whole thing actually fucking worked. Sam knew he was smart, but this plan had worked out even better than he hoped. He used his brother’s moment of distraction to exchange a smug look with Odie, whose eyes were sparkling with the remnants of tears over his first human kill. She mustered a tiny smile at Sam’s self-satisfaction, though.

Just as Sam’s vicarious pleasure for his brother’s happiness was melting into worry about his post-battle PDA in a bathrobe with his boyfriend becoming embarrassing for all parties present, Dean remembered he had an audience and pulled back from Cas.

Dean grasped the back of his neck with the hand that had pulled Cas in for the lip-lock. “Uh,” he stared at his shuffling feet for a moment before peeking at Sam, face burning. 

Despite his strong desire to smirk and crack a joke at his brother’s expense (it had, after all, been a very long decade,) Sam tried to control whatever his face was currently doing and meet Dean’s gaze with his own best poker face. 

Sam waited, but nothing else came out of Dean’s mouth. Cas still held Dean by the elbow, and the angel was staring at his brother, eyes shining with pride. Sam felt his teeth rotting.

“Okay,” Sam clapped his hands together. “I guess we have a body to burn.” He raised his eyebrows at Odie in a silent question. She nodded. “No burning. But I have a place we can take her. We’ll need to arrange Nine Nights to prevent her return in any form.” 

Sam rose on creaky knees and pulled Odie up on unsteady feet. She swayed and he caught her by the shoulders. They were narrow but firm and straight. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Sam noticed her fine, dark lashes were short and delicately curled. Her earlobes were attached and ever so slightly lighter than the rest of her skin. Sam took in the rise of her neck, the…

Dean cleared his throat. Maybe Sam’s poker face needed a little practice. “Odie and I’ll take care of it.” Sam said, cutting off whatever snark-off Dean had been ready to instigate. 

He turned to Odie. “Do you want to drive?” he asked. “I can get her body there, if you start it up and pop the trunk for me.” Sam was worried about her but didn’t want her to think he perceived her as weak. He still remembered his first real case with a god. His first time he killed a human vessel. Odie was tough as hell, but they were a team, and he wanted to help if he could. She nodded her assent and disappeared out the door.

“Dean and I will clean up here so the resort staff don’t get suspicious.” Cas tacked on. Dean opened his mouth, about to protest, then closed it again at Cas’ firm glower.

Sam nodded and took a knee to gather Dr. Lea’s body up into a fireman’s carry. He hauled the body out to Odie’s blue Land Cruiser. After stowing it, he slid into the bench next to Odie. She seemed more centered. She pulled out wordlessly and they drove in the moonlight, past fields of citrus trees, up and down winding stretches of two-lane blacktop. 

They drove for over an hour North before pulling off the road onto a bumpy dirt trail. Sam gritted his teeth as the rough terrain bounced his head on the roof. Odie finally parked at the trail’s end. 

“I’m sorry, but we have a short hike still,” Odie explained, pulling her hiking boots from the backseat and spraying on mosquito repellent. “I can help carry the body if you make a pallet.” She tossed him the bug spray canister. 

Sam snatched it out of the air and shook his head. “I can get it. Where are we going?” He pulled his hair into a man bun at the top of his head. Dean wasn’t here to rib him about it. He stood to stretch, feeling his muscles unbind after the unforgiving ride. As he dropped his arms, he caught Odie’s appreciative gaze. She froze, caught out staring, then gave him a small smile, licking her lips.

“We’re going into some remote land between the river and the national forest. It’s owned by an absentee landlord, so no one will find it here.” Odie pulled on her pack and Sam slung the corpse over his shoulders. Sam wondered if he should worry about how blase he had gotten dealing with corpses. 

Luckily, the hike was a short one. From where Odie had parked, it was an easy, flat trail to the river’s shore. Sam’s eyes were down, so he almost ran into Odie’s back when she stopped. When he did cast his eyes upwards, his jaw dropped. 

Smack in the middle of the mangroves was an honest-to-God treehouse. There were at least three levels he could identify. The bottom two were open at the sides and the third was enclosed like a cabin. A small crowd was visible on the first floor. Sam hitched the dead weight up his shoulders and gave Odie a curious glance.

His silent question was answered a second later when a sandy blur squeaked by him, spinning Odie in a noisy hug. Timea detached from Odie and beckoned to Sam. 

He followed her onto the first landing of the treehouse, just a few easy stairs up. A group of people were chilling in hammocks and talking quietly. None of them batted an eye at the arrival of the corpse. Sam deposited it in a pallet indicated by Timea. It had been prepared with some plants, candles, and soft cloth. 

Sam grunted and rolled his shoulders. He almost felt sorry for the deceased woman whose body lay so still and pale on the mat. Timea’s hand on his arm interrupted his thoughts. “We will take care of her from here,” she said. Sam nodded. A group of women gathered around Timea and the body and began to busy themselves with burial preparations. Sam wandered back into the crowd.

A strong arm pulled him towards a ladder. It was Hank. The top half of his dreads were pulled into a bun at the crown of his head. “Hairdo buddy!” Sam smiled. Hank’s enthusiasm didn’t match the subdued manner of the crowd. Hank noticed and said, “It’s all right, man. We’re about to get this party started.”

Hank led him up the ladder to the second story, explaining that they had gathered trusted neighbors and friends of the local hunting community to assist with the Nine Night. Basically a long wake, they would perform various Obeah rituals to ensure Dr. Lea didn’t become...well, anything else. It was the local version of burning a hunter on a pyre. 

The second level of the treehouse was outfitted like a club, with a bar and dance floor. Sam raised his eyebrows, impressed. Hank led him over to the DJ booth, where he slipped his headphones on. Sam stopped him with a hand. 

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Sam began. Hank’s face held a challenge but he was silent. Sam held his eyes. “Thank you for taking care of this” Sam waved a hand to indicate the Nine Nights “and thank you for trying to help Odie reach her parents.” Hank inhaled sharply in surprise at that. 

“She told you,” Hank said flatly. 

Sam wasn’t sure if Hank meant her parents, the attempt to call upon their spirits, or the witchcraft in general, so he settled on replying “Yeah. And thank you for being her friend.” Sam turned on his best good-guy puppy eyes and Hank’s aggression melted. 

“Yeah, man. Always.” Hank’s white teeth flashed. “Thank you for helping gank this fucking colonizer.”

Sam chuckled. “Anytime, man. Anytime.” He clapped Hank on the back as the DJ cued up some mid-tempo beats. The crowd was already mingling and beginning to groove, the earlier subdued buzz transforming into the sound of a party.

Sam meandered through the bodies until he found Odie on the first floor of the treehouse, staring silently out at the river. He leaned on the railing next to her, and she softened. Sam felt her small hand, firm and smooth, slip into his. “I’m ready to go,” said Odie.

The ride back to Odie’s cabin was made even worse by the itching sensation crawling over Sam’s body. He tried not to fidget, but Odie kept glancing curiously at him every time he wriggled uncomfortably. She finally gave him a sharp glance and told him to stop scratching or he’d make it worse.

Once back at her home, she flipped on the kitchen lights and burst out laughing. Sam’s arms were covered in angry red welts. 

“Get in the shower, Sam,” said Odie, pushing him toward the bathroom, still laughing. Clean up and then I’ll put a poultice on it. 

“It’s not funny!” replied an indignant Sam. “It really hurts!”

Odie immediately stopped laughing. “Of course, Sam. I’m sorry.” She smiled wryly. “It’s not funny that you’re hurt, it’s just...remember the bark I gathered? From the tourist tree?” She took a deep breath but dissolved into laughter once again. 

Sam flipped on the shower and tossed his shirt out at her, hopefully hitting her in the head with it. “Yuck it up. Real nice, Melodie.” 

Sam did remember. She had said the bark was the antidote to the rash caused by the Chechen tree, which he apparently had gotten on today’s hike. “You’re the one who has to rub me with medicine now, so enjoy your little joke,” he teased through the shower curtain. He could head Odie working with her mortar and pestle, clinking away as she mixed up the bark and other ingredients. He heard her chuckle. 

“Has to? Or gets to?” came Odie’s teasing reply. Sam grinned.

\--------------------------

Sam groaned. “You know, when I imagined getting in your bed, this isn’t exactly how I pictured it.” He was shirtless, in clean shorts, and Odie was straddling his back. She swatted his shoulder playfully.

“Stop it. This stuff’s smelly and I don’t want it on my sheets.” She continued applying the cream across his arms and back where the burn-like rash marred his skin. Everywhere she dabbed the medicine felt instantly calmer. It was all Sam could do not to roll up into her touch. The firm pressure of her sitting across the back of his thighs wasn’t helping, either. 

She switched to his other arm, and Sam cried out in relief. Odie snorted. “When I imagined making you moan, this isn’t what I had in mind, either.” Sam was glad his face was hidden in the pillows. His mind was racing as Odie wrapped cloth bandages over the medicine to hold the cool gel in place. Sam knew she had been flirting, and he gave as good as he got. But he wasn’t really the hit-it-and-quit-it type. 

When he thought about Odie, he felt a deeper pull. Thinking about her felt like the suction of the ocean just before popping up on a surfboard. Sam wasn’t sure he was ready to stand. He didn’t know if trying would mean getting plowed under by a wave or blissfully cresting its edge. For some reason, the image of Dean pulling Cas in for a kiss by the bathrobe sash flashed into Sam’s brain, and with it, a pang of loss. Things were changing. They were changing. Maybe Sam needed to think about changing, too.

Sam’s thoughts were so distant that he struggled to identify what was wrong. Odie’s hands were frozen halfway through the last binding on his arm. The room was cool, much too cold for a Belize evening. The air crackled with the potential energy Sam associated with ghosts. Odie’s thighs were tense and tight around his legs. Sam saw her hand reach past his head toward her bedside table, where salt sat in an open bowl. “Sam?” Odie’s voice whispered in his ear, her breath frosting in the air between their faces.

Sam gave a barely perceptible nod and she rolled off of him, grabbing the salt. Sam smoothly pulled his iron knife from his boot by the bed. The rose in unison, back-to-back, both scanning the room for the spirit.

“Melodie,” a deep voice came from across the room. A bearded man lurched through the bedroom door. Odie sucked in a gasp next to Sam. 

“Papa?” she said in a small voice. Sam gently pried the salt from her fingers and began to create the outline of a circle around them. Odie shook her head, stilled his arm. “He’s not a ghost. It’s a duppy. My father.”

The figure, waxen and semi-opaque, stopped in front of Odie, large hand rising to cradle her cheek. Tears glistened in Odie’s eyes. Sam tensed beside her. The duppy of Jay Reneau stopped before touching his daughter. His large brown eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry to come to you like this, mon petite chou,” he said. “I felt your call before, but Ixchel had me trapped, along with the other souls she consumed. When you killed Dr. Lea you released us, so I could come see you.”

“Mama?” Odie asked, the single word quavering.

Jay shook his head. “My dear Elena was gone before Ixchel could get her.” Odie’s father’s spirit fixed Sam with an exasperated look. “Can you tell your boyfriend to put away the knife so I can speak with you, daughter?” Sam opened his mouth to protest the label, but Odie’s hand on his knife arm silenced him. He stowed it, along with his concerns, and crossed his arms. Odie sank back onto her bed to listen. 

“When your mama’s patients began falling ill, she called upon Ixchel to find out what was causing the sickness. By this time she had caught HIV from delivering the babies of women who carried the virus, but didn’t know it yet.” Sam put a gentle hand on Odie’s shoulder. Jay continued. 

“Ixchel wanted your mother to give her sacrifices to deliver blessings. Of course, she refused.” Jay’s ghostly jaw was firm. “Your mother did not want anyone to “be fruitful” and cause a baby to become sick before we understood what was causing the illness and how it spread.” he added, sadly. “We fought her, both your mother and I, but we were no match for a goddess,” he continued. “Elena was already very sick, and died during the battle.”

Odie’s brows knitted in confusion. “So Ixchel didn’t consume her?” 

“No,” confirmed the duppy of her father. “She died and I assume her spirit passed on naturally. I, on the other hand…” Jay Reneau passed a transparent hand across his pale face. “I was able to trap her at the waterfall using an Obeah ritual, to prevent her from further mischief. But it was too late for me. She consumed my body and spirit in her last act before the magic took hold.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I’m sure Odie appreciates knowing you didn’t just run off and leave her,” he squeezed his hand reflexively on her shoulder, “but you didn’t come here for a family reunion, did you?” he asked. Odie tensed.

“No,” Jay admitted. “The spirits Ixchel consumed are free to move on now, and Dr. Lea no longer performs her bidding, but Ixchel is once more in her natural habitat.” He turned hard eyes to his daughter. “Melodie, you must trap her again, before she is called upon by another to create havoc and use her for their own dark purposes. I came to share the ritual with you. You must succeed where I failed.”


	22. I Wanna Love Somebody But I Don't Know How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas studied him for a moment. Cas’ instincts had guided him to be gentle with Dean, so as not to startle him into retreat. Now Cas realized this was the wrong stratagem for the human hunter. 
> 
> Dean had spent his entire lifetime in control. He cared for others, was the rock upon which his father, and then his brother, could rely. Any time he felt anything he associated with weakness, he postured and preened, projecting the strength he knew others required of him. This man, Cas thought, was used to taking what he wanted, but only when he was completely in control of the terms under which he got it, and when and how it would end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be sex ahead, mateys.

_ I want to love somebody but I don’t know how. _

The Decemberists, “Sucker’s Prayer”

Cas followed Sam’s retreating back, moving slowly under the weight of the dead body of Dr. Lea. The snick of the door disturbed the room’s quiet. Dean’s head dipped for a moment, and Cas caught a quiet sigh escaping Dean’s chest.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas longed to cross the room to the hunter, but held himself back. He knew from the way his own heart was hammering in his vessel’s chest that Dean was probably still recovering from the battle. Best to give him space.

“I’m fine,” gritted out Dean, tightening the ties of his robe once again. He disappeared in the bathroom and returned with the abandoned champagne bottle, tilting it toward the ceiling to empty it into his mouth. “Just another day on the job, right?” he added in a bitter tone, tipping the bottle in an air toast to Cas.

Cas nodded, uneasy. “We’d better clean up, Dean.” Cas silently regarded the broken glass below the window, white sheer curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. 

Dean gave a humorless laugh. “Thought this was supposed to be a vacation,” he grumbled, grabbing a broom from the corner. Cas halted him by raising a hand.

“I’ll get it, Dean. You should rest, anyway.” Cas pictured Dean, mere minutes prior, prostate on the floor while Ixchel overpowered him, ready to take he who Cas treasured most on this plane. At the memory, a giant fist squeezed Cas’ torso. He raked a hand down his face, sent a drizzle of grace toward the window, re-attaching the glass molecules. Cas heard Dean’s breath hitch. Cas turned slightly, waving a hand over the floor, sending the blood there to a remote field, leaving no trace of the violence that had occurred. 

When Cas looked up, Dean was staring at him, open-mouthed. “Damn, Cas. Sometimes I forget…” Dean’s face suddenly flamed, and he looked away, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Cas didn’t miss the familiar hitch of Dean’s shoulders, the roll of his neck. The stiffening of his posture. Clearly, Dean’s crippling fear of loss was returning.

“Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?” Cas purposely left his wording vague, possibly referring to either their conflict and sudden kissing session or the battle and their near demise that had interrupted it.

Dean scoffed. “Hell, no, Cas.” He looked up and away, pursing his lips. “Because I’m not a fucking girl,” he tacked on in a scathing tone. Cas wanted to roll his eyes but restrained the impulse, just barely. Dean was pushing him away. Again.

Instead, Cas said “Dean, you don’t have to perform toxic masculinity for me just because others damaged you with it. I don’t mind if you are having trouble accepting the emotions you’re feeling.” 

Dean wouldn’t meet Cas’ gaze. “I don’t know how to do this without fucking up,” he told the floor. “I’ll probably never know, so just forget it.” Dean was still talking to his feet. “And, you know, I almost died back there, but you’re snapping your fingers and fixing windows like it’s a sneeze, so I’m also a little out of my league here, and,” Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

Cas waited patiently, but Dean wasn’t forthcoming with any more words. The man just stood there, hands clenched into fists by his sides.

Cas studied him for a moment. Cas’ instincts had guided him to be gentle with Dean, so as not to startle him into retreat. Now Cas realized this was the wrong stratagem for the human hunter. 

Dean had spent his entire lifetime in control. He cared for others, was the rock upon which his father, and then his brother, could rely. Any time he felt anything he associated with weakness, he postured and preened, projecting the strength he knew others required of him. This man, Cas thought, was used to taking what he wanted, but only when he was completely in control of the terms under which he got it, and when and how it would end.

Despite what Dean suspected, Cas could not actually read minds. Cas could, however, feel the gravity of Dean’s want, almost masked by a swirl of confusion. Dean would not, or perhaps even could not, push past his own conflict to admit what lie beneath. Cas saw the different parts of Dean click together into a whole, like a blurry image resolving into a beautiful picture.

Cas felt a surge of fierce protectiveness. He would give Dean what he needed.

Cas stepped into Dean’s’ personal space. Dean began to sputter in protest, but Cas kissed him, effectively ending Dean’s anxiety spiral. Dean melted against Cas instantly. Cas made a mental note to himself to remember that technique for future use. 

Cas bracketed Dean’s waist, encased in soft terrycloth, with his hands. He gently kissed Dean again and again, nudging Dean’s nose slightly as he turned his head to the left. Dean slid his hand up Cas’ side and found purchase on Cas’ cheek, drawing him in more deeply for a kiss. Cas stilled Dean’s grasp with his hand and shoved Dean’s arms roughly down at his sides. Cas continued kissing him as if to reassure his partner he would take care of him. Cas felt Dean’s muscles relax as he released his worry under Cas’ touches. 

Cas stepped back to take in the picture in front of him. Dean stared at him with absolute trust, an expression of awe tingeing his features. Cas carefully untied the sash of Dean’s robe. He pushed it down, revealing Dean’s broad shoulders. Dean’s skin pebbled slightly in the cool air of the cabana. Dean breathed in a slow, deep breath.

Cas let his eyes trace a lazy path up Dean’s slim legs, past his pretty cock jutting out from its nest of hair up his soft middle to his collarbone, lightly dusted with freckles. Cas followed his reverent gaze with a hand, softly touching Dean with a flat palm from his navel to his neck. Cas loved the contrast of his large hand sliding across Dean’s paler skin.

Cas met Dean’s green eyes as he grasped the man’s neck, pulling their bodies flush to press him into another kiss. Cas circled Dean’s waist with his hands, letting his fingers trail lower to the firm rise of Dean’s ass. With each caress, the angel sought to let him know how wanted he was. 

This time it was Dean who pulled back, to let his fingers trace the lines of Cas’ face; his lashes, his jaw, his bottom lip. Cas let him explore, accepting Dean’s look of wonder until he lost patience and pulled his together for another kiss. Cas continued to explore the round globes of Dean’s ass, even exploring the sensitive skin between them with a finger. Dean arched his back, seeking friction even as he opened his mouth deeper for Cas’ questing tongue. 

Cas broke off their kiss. Dean was panting and his eyes held unwavering faith. Cas’ heart hammered harder at the power Dean was entrusting him with. With steady hands, Cas pushed gently on the tops of Dean’s shoulders until the hunter kneeled, nude, at his feet. Dean reached for the belt of Cas’ bathrobe but Cas once again stilled his hands, pushing them away. Dean instead rested his hands on the tops of his thighs and gazed up at Cas, expectant and hopeful. Cas’ breathing sped up at the sight. 

Cas untied his bathrobe and let it fall to the ground silently behind him. Dean was shuffling on his knees, eyeing Cas’ cock, a hard line pressed sideways in his tight, navy blue boxer briefs. Dean glanced up at Cas again, licking his lips. Cas reached a hand around the back of Dean’s head and guided him to it, watching in awe as Dean mouthed and kissed the ridge through the thin cotton fabric. 

Dean balanced himself with a hand on Cas’ thigh as he outlined Cas’ thick member with an open mouth. He tentatively reached his hand higher to trace its shape through the material. Cas stroked Dean’s soft hair in encouragement. Dean finally retreated, casting an imploring look up at Cas while gently biting his bottom lip. Cas choked back a moan. Of course he would deny Dean nothing. Cas slid his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts, pulling them out and down, revealing his dick to Dean’s hungry eyes. 

His hands were back on his own thighs, and he blinked softly up at Cas as he pulled his cock free. Its red head bobbed tantalizingly close to Dean’s mouth, and Dean licked his lips. He reached a calloused hand out to grasp it by the base, but Cas for a third time arrested his movement, locking Dean’s wrist in his fingers. 

Dean’s lips parted and his tongue darted out to touch the head of Cas’ dick, but Cas planted his fingers in Dean’s hair and jerked his head back. Cas locked eyes with the man at his feet, watched as Dean’s pupils widened even further, almost obscuring the green of his irises. Cas cupped Dean’s cheek in his hand; traced a thumb down a cheekbone until it caught upon Dean’s lower lip, already bright pink from their kissing. Cas’ other fingers rested softly under Dean’s chin, tilting the man’s face up further. 

He dipped his thumb further into Dean’s mouth, plying his tongue, warm and wet under its pad. Using the same hand, keeping his thumb in Dean’s mouth and fingers on his cheek, Cas pulled Dean closer to his cock. He smoothly replaced his thumb with it. Dean’s eyelids fell shut as he slid forward steadily. He didn’t stop until his nose almost brushed Cas’ abdomen. He lazily pulled back until just the head was in his mouth, then repeated the movement, torturously slow. 

Cas kept his hands to himself until Dean looked up at him, gaze raw and unfocused. Then Cas released a soft groan and threw his head back, biting his own lip to keep himself from thrusting into the warm wet of Dean’s mouth. 

Dean pulled off entirely, letting his tongue cup the tip of Cas’ penis. He stared imploringly at Cas, radiating want. Realization clicked, and Cas planted a hand on Dean’s shoulder, using his other hand to guide his hard length into Dean’s waiting mouth. Dean made an appreciative noise as he glided up and down Cas, providing just the right amount of suction. Cas kept a hand on Dean’s head, lightly guiding him. The gorgeous soft smacks of Dean laving Cas’ cock joined Cas’ panting in the cabana. 

Cas’ pleasure intensified until his need grew too great to remain collected. He moved to remove his boxer briefs entirely, accidentally catching Dean’s cheek with his dick as he did so. Cas froze, but Dean merely regarded him with shocked eyes, the blush on his cheeks deepening. Dean’s hands were still locked on his thighs, knuckles white. Cas stepped out of his underwear and kicked them to the side. Dean licked his lips and opened his mouth again, eyes flicking between Cas’ eyes and cock. 

Comprehension dawning, Cas smeared Dean’s bottom lip with the pre-come that had beaded at his tip. Dean let out a small, choked-off sound of excitement. Cas smoothed a reassuring hand through the fine hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. Then he cupped the man’s head with both hands and fed him his cock until he felt it bump the back of his throat. Dean’s eyes fell shut as he moaned around Cas. That was all the encouragement Cas required to begin thrusting into Dean’s mouth in earnest. No longer able to stifle his own noises of pleasure, 

Dean sputtered a bit when Cas gave a particularly hard stroke. Cas pulled out and Dean reached up to stroke Cas with a firm grip. Cas petted his cheek. Dean met his hand with his mouth, combining both sensations, looking up at Cas to watch his reaction. Cas reassured him, “you feel so good, Dean.” 

This statement was met with another moan and a redoubling of effort. Dean leaned down to lick and suck Cas’ balls into his mouth. Cas sucked in air like a fish on land. Dean traced a tongue from his balls all the way to his tip, and then sunk plush lips back down on Cas’ cock. In all of Cas’ exploration of his vessel, he had never known pleasure such as this. “Don’t stop,” he implored.

Dean moaned in agreement. Cas looked down to see him squirming and shifting restlessly at his feet, fingers still locked on his thighs. Cas couldn’t hold back his moan. “So good,” he praised. “Touch yourself, Dean,” he commanded, voice so low he barely recognized it.

Dean groaned in relief, obeying immediately. His eyes flew open and locked on Cas’, shared realization passing between them of the heightened tension and pleasure. “So good for me,” Cas repeated, testing the phrasing’s effect on Dean. He choked a tone around Cas’ dick somewhere between a moan and sob. Cas took in the sight of him, freckles almost invisible against the flushed backdrop of his face, lips red and shiny stretched around Cas’ member, whimpering sounds escaping around it, hooded eyes flickering up to Cas’ filled with trust and adoration. Dean’s fist flew over his own cock, his hips rocking up to meet his hand with the same rhythm Cas met Dean’s mouth.

“Your mouth is so perfect,” Cas intoned when what he meant was  _ you’re so perfect. _ Both of them were wide-eyed, breathless, startled and perhaps a bit scared at how intense this felt. Dean gave a loud grunt of warning. His hand froze, squeezing his base. 

Cas pulled his hand away by the wrist, pinning it by his own hip, still pumping into Dean’s mouth. He watched in fascination as Dean’s cock kicked in the air, more pre-come leaking down its plush head. Cas felt a tight coil unwind deep in his pelvis, pleasure building. He rapidly drilled into Dean’s mouth with short thrusts, one hand on the back of Dean’s head, one locked on his wrist.

Just as Cas felt his balls tighten and draw up, Dean abruptly pulled back. Cas froze. Dean stared up at him, panting, mouth open, a kind of helpless need visible in his eyes.  _ Oh. _

Not breaking eye contact, Cas reach down to stroke himself. It only took two firm pumps with a twist at the top before he was spurting in long white streaks across Dean’s beautiful features. “Yes, fuck yes, Cas, yes,” Dean whispered. His hips were undulating against nothing as he sought relief, his own dick heavy and purple with blood as it bobbed between his legs. 

Cas admired the sight until Dean opened his eyes again. They were stunned and blurred with moisture. In spite of his orgasm mere seconds ago, the vision triggered something hot and possessive inside of Cas. He growled and moved without thinking.

Cas sank to the floor, pushing Dean down and back with a hand on his chest. He climbed over him and lapped at the stripes of come across Dean’s face, pausing only to shove his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He felt Dean’s persistent erection pressing desperately into his hip. Cas hummed in satisfaction and reached between their bodies to take it in his grip.

He once again twined a hand in Dean’s hair, pressing the man back far enough so they could lock eyes. “You’re amazing, Dean,” Cas rumbled. “Look at me,” he commanded, never taking his eyes from Dean’s, which were flashing with a desperate hunger.

Cas sped up his hand, reaching down to press another kiss to Dean’s pliant mouth. “Let go, Dean” he urged, amidst Dean’s urgent whimpers. Dean clung to Cas’ shoulders, fingers spasming against the muscles there. “Come for me,” Cas directed, feeling Dean’s entire body snap tight below his. “Now,” he added, for good measure, as Dean spilled over his palm. Cas fought the proprietary flare of his grace that roared up in response to the picture of Dean’s face in ecstasy. As it was, a blue hum of energy surrounded them both as they rode out Dean’s climax together.

Cas rolled to his side on the floor and gathered Dean to him, their heavy breaths slowing and softening together in the silence. 

“Holy shit,” croaked Dean through dry lips, sneaking an embarrassed glance at Cas. Cas smiled in return, unable to stifle the sense of satisfaction he felt. 

He wrangled a loose-limbed Dean into bed, then fetched a washcloth from the bathroom. After cleaning them both up, Cas offered a dozing Dean a bottle of water. He groggily swallowed enough to placate Cas before flopping back onto the bed. Sleep hit Dean almost instantly, so Cas merely curled protectively around his back, contentedly burying his nose in the hunter’s hair. He didn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF did I just write?
> 
> Also, the indefinite pronoun is my sworn enemy.


	23. 'Til Death Do Us Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some plot.

 

_This is why we fight_

_ And when we die _

_ We will die with our arms unbound _

_ Why We Fight- _ The Decemberists

\---------------------------------

A persistent buzzing somewhere over Dean’s left shoulder pierced his dreamless sleep. “Mmmffffhhh” he protested, trying to fling his arm behind him to silence it. He failed because his arm was pinned under a warm weight. Cas’ arm. Pressing so satisfactorily against Dean’s chest. 

Dean tensed, recalling what had brought his body pressed nude in sleep to Cas. Embarrassment made his gut roil. He debated the best strategy for removing himself from the bed: deflection or distraction? 

Then Cas’ voice rumbled, “stop it,” sending tingly vibrations through Dean’s chest. “Just relax and rest,” Cas ordered. “You can freak out later,” he added, with a hint of amusement. 

Dean internally shrugged and burrowed closer to Cas, wondering at the feeling of Cas’ heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest with his breath. That the angel inhabited a body so imbued with the more mundane aspects of human physiology seemed completely contradictory to Dean, and was a bit too confusing for contemplating at this extremely early (late?) hour. The darkness outside the window held no clues. 

Rain pattered on the cabana’s deck. Wind rustled the palm leaves, blending with the ocean waves in a soothing symphony lulling Dean back to sleep. This was better than he had imagined in his longing dreams just a night earlier, when he had slept so close to Cas. Those dreams were nothing compared to this feeling of security, protected in the circle of Cas’ arms.

Dean realized with some embarrassment he was the little spoon, tucked neatly into the curve of Cas’ pelvis, the soft hairs on Cas’ thighs tickling Dean’s own. Cas’s shorter stature meant his face was pressed against the space where Dean’s spine met the short hairs at the back of his head. Cas nuzzled a kiss there before swinging smoothly off Dean to grab the phone, on its second or third round of ringing on vibrate, clattering on the nightstand. 

“Hello, Sam” Cas growled down the line. “Yes, my phone must still be in the bathroom. Dean is...indisposed, so I picked up for him.” Dean, eyes still shut, smiled. He’d hate to get Cas’ smitey voice in the morning.  Sam’s voice was a tinny squawk down the line. Dean allowed himself to drowse. Cas’ voice was a deep lullaby in the background.

And then lips were pressed to the hollow behind Dean’s ear, hand pressed between his pecs. Dean allowed himself a faux-grumpy groan. He made as if to distance himself from Cas’ snuggles, but his protests were merely token. 

Cas knew it, too, if his determined kisses were any indication. “We have to get up,” he told Dean, without conviction. “Your brother’s picking us up in a few minutes.”

That statement did startle Dean into wakefulness. He slid into hunting mode with the assurance of years of training under John Winchester. Fully alert, he slung out of bed, locating his knife on the way. “‘Kay,” he nodded, mostly to himself. “What’ve we got?” Dean shook out the legs of his shorts, twisted where they had been hastily discarded before his shower the night before. Ugh. They were still damp.

Cas’ eyes tracked him carefully before he stood and joined in dressing. “Apparently Odie has a way to make sure no other enterprising folks can make deals with Ixchel.” Dean checked his pack for water and supplies. A hand on his neck drew his attention. 

Cas’ eyes met his. “I just want you to know: I’m not going anywhere.” Cas punctuated this proclamation with a kiss. It was turning heated when the slamming of a car door pierced the sound of the rain outside the cabana door.

Dean, secretly pleased, could think of no other way to respond than to pretend to hate the attention. He rolled his eyes without venom, and replied, ‘you’re literally going somewhere right now-on a hunt.”

Sam rapped on the door, shouting “I’m getting drenched out here! Shake tail, guys!” 

Cas grabbed Dean’s pack from him and gave a small smile at Dean’s affronted look. “As long as it’s with you, Dean,” he said solemnly.

Dean shook his head, impressed despite himself. This was going to be his life now.

\-------------------------------------------------------

They made an odd quartet, crammed in the humid blue Land Cruiser, jostling through the rusty mud in the downpour. Sam sat shotgun to Odie, a hand on the ceiling to brace his head against bumps. Odie drove, much to Dean’s chagrin. He absolutely hated riding when others were behind the wheel. The only saving grace to his sitting backseat was that she had to pull her seat forward so far so her short legs could reach the pedals that Dean had plenty of legroom behind her. He leaned forward, wrapping a hand around her seat to talk to Sam. Cas sat next to Dean, behind Sam. His legs splayed to each side of Sam’s seat, which was throw back to the maximum position to make room for Sam’s considerable leg room. His left leg pressed against Dean’s knee, and Cas kept a steady hand draped casually over Dean’s thigh.

Its strong, sure pressure kept making Dean lose the thread of the conversation, but a detail made his brain come screeching back to the topic at hand. ‘Wait, what?!” Dean’s outburst interrupted Sam, who had been detailing the ritual to trap Ixchel that Odie’s father-ghost-zombie thingie told her about. “You,” Dean pointed to Sam, “and you” he pointed to Odie ”are going to voluntarily do the snake magic commitment thingy?” Sam looked nervously at Odie. Her eyes were steady on the road but Dean didn’t miss how one of her hands left its firm grip on the wheel to lace her fingers with Sam’s on the seat between them. 

“No.” Dean began in a belligerent tone. “This isn’t Vegas, Sammy. What happens here doesn’t stay here!”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “That’s not how marriages work in Vegas, either, Dean.”

“I don’t care!’ retorted the older brother. “I’m not going to let some god screw with your head, making you feel things that aren’t real.I got caught up in that magic, and it’s witchcraft.” Cas’ fingers tightened on Dean’s leg.

Sam glared at his brother. “First of all,’ Sam said firmly, “don’t assume our feeling aren’t real.” His brother cast a nervous glance at Odie. “And you’re forgetting one thing, Dean. We’ve got something you guys didn’t have. A witch.” 

Dean’s jaw twitched and his eyes flicked to Odie, whose eyes remained fixed on the road. “Well, I had a freaking angel, and he couldn’t stop Ixchel. Like hell I’m gonna let you-”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice carried that tone of command again. “Sam.” Now Cas sounded weary. “You both love one another and wish to protect the other from harm. Can we skip the fraternal sacrifice kabuki and get to the part where we simply work together?” The wipers squeaked in the quiet cab of the SUV.

Odie giggled. “I like you, Cas. A man who speaks the truth is a man after my own heart.” Cas rewarded her with a conspiratorial smile. “I find you refreshing, as well, Melodie,” replied Cas. 

Dean felt a small flare of jealousy bloom witnessing how quickly Cas had Odie eating out of his hand. But, honestly, who wouldn’t? Dean gazed fondly at Cas, too far gone to care that Sam was noticing and probably filing his dopey love-gaze away for future ribbing.

“So,” said Odie, taking charge as she was so wont to do, “Sam and I will perform the ceremony, drawing Ixchel out. Once she appears, we need Cas and Dean to distract her while we perform the ritual to trap the goddess.” 

“So it’s a trap, and we’re the bait?” asked Dean. “Why am I not surprised?” he asked, rhetorically. Cas tried to placate him with a soothing hand on his shoulder, but Dean shrugged it off. 

“I don’t want you anywhere near this one, Cas,” Dean barked. Cas’ jaw dropped open, but Dean continued, reckless. “Last time she was trapped in a human suit, and still tied you up tight. I can’t lure her and keep myself safe if I’m worrying about protecting you.” Sam actually snorted. Odie shushed him.

“I cannot _ believe _ how stubborn you are, Dean!” Cas voice was approaching a shout in the small car. “If anyone here is vulnerable to Ixchel, it’s you, seeing as how it’s  _ your _ soul she wants to eat! Do you have any idea what it was like watching her threaten you while I was immobilized?” Cas was panting, eyes bright with emotion. Dean’s arms were crossed in defiance. “I should stop this car right this second and leave you here to wait for us so that  _ I _ do not compromise the mission worrying about  _ you _ !” A blue glow grew around the angel as he prepared to use his grace to zap Dean somewhere.

Odie slammed on the brakes. The Blue FJ Cruiser jerked to a stop, tires skidding in the mud. She whirled around the driver’s seat and glared at them. “You should hear yourselves! Grown men, trying to sacrifice yourself for the other, selfishly placing your own emotional needs over your partner’s.” Dean raised a finger to protest the word ‘partner’ but she snapped at him. “No! Grow up. Both of you. Cas-Dean needs you. Dean-Cas needs you. You both want to protect the other, you both want to help the other. The only obvious solution is working and hunting together. Yes?” She didn’t wait for them to respond before answering herself. “Of course I am right.” Odie shook her head in irritation, whispering “men” under her breath as she put the vehicle in gear.

Dean peeked at Cas, who was playing with his hands in his lap. Dean bumped his shoulder against the angel’s. “Whaddya say?” he asked. “Partners?” Cas replied with a single, serious nod. Dean grinned and slung an arm over Cas’ shoulder, sliding him closer across the bench seat. Sam peeked over his shoulder at Dean, shiteating grin on his face. 

Dean pointed a finger at his obnoxious little brother. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you left all the details of your little ‘ritual’ out of the plan. What are you and the witch plotting?’ he asked.

Sam stiffened. ‘Look, Dean,” he began. “I know you don’t like witches. Lord knows in our line of work, we’ve had good reason.” Sam cleared his throat, and looked at the woman next to him in the front seat. “But Odie uses her knowledge to help people, and to help us. I’ve learned a lot from her.” Sam said firmly. “And I think you can learn a lot from her, too.”

Sam held Dean’s eyes for a long moment. Dean nodded, then reached across the seat back to punch Sam gently on the arm. “Okay, so what’s the play?”

Sam hissed in sudden pain. ‘Rash,” he gritted out at Dean’s concerned expression. “Kinda like poison ivy. Hurts like hell,” he added through clenched teeth.

Odie added “he’s got a cut foot and a jellyfish sting, too,” somewhat ruefully. Her beautiful lips pursed. 

Cas tilted his head infinitesimally at her, then leaned forward, wrapping his hand over the seat to rest on Sam’s forehead. The world blurred at the edges. Odie cast a sharp glance to the side as Sam shook his head in relief. 

“Thanks, man,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders, testing his healed comfort level. Odie’s face was slack with awe as she regarded Cas in the rearview mirror. “Wow,” she said.

Dean’s chest puffed with pride. “Damn right, wow,” he echoed, tightening his grip on Cas. Dean looked out the window so he could avoid whatever was happening on everyone else’ face.

\----------------------

Dean’s arms burned. “This fucking sucks,’ he spat out. “How many times are we going to have to make this hike in one week, huh?”

Sam laughed, swinging up the rock wall far ahead of him. The sky was still dark in the pre-dawn hour. Monkeys chattered above them, their sleep disturbed by the noisy humans. Given that this was a hunt, they were attempting subterfuge, but honestly, Dean was breathing heavily enough with exertion of clambering up wet rocks that Ixchel could probably hear them coming a mile away.

Odie seemed to be as big of a health nut as his brother, and the two of them traipsed easily through the jungle, ahead of Dean the whole time. A hand appeared in front of his face. Dean looked up into blue eyes and took it gratefully. Cas swung him up the last feet of the rock face effortlessly. This hike different from their last in that Cas didn’t leave his side. So maybe there was a bit of hand-on-the-back, hacking-through-the-underbrush action going on. Dean chose to reframe it from Prince Charming solicitousness to partners-in-arms, watching each other’s backs. Yeah. Cool.

To that end, Dean sat up, scanning Cas’ back for threats. He hefted himself to his feet and the two of them moved instinctively back to back, scanning the surface of the water and the surrounding jungle, respectively. 

Sam and Odie had already stripped down and slipped into the pool below the waterfall. Dean averted his eyes because there were some things he really didn’t need to see, including his brother’s junk,  _ thankyouverymuch _ . But he caught the movement where the pair swam as quietly as they could to the waterfall. Nothing to do now but wait.

Dean felt Cas’ back, warm at his. He felt calmer just knowing Cas’ angel blade was backing him up. He slipped his knife easily into his own palm, eyes peeled for the goddess. He couldn’t see through the curtain of water, even in the full moonlight, but knew his brother and Odie were there, winding a snake about their wrists, drinking ocean water from the other’s palm. Dean’s stomach clenched at the thought of his brother’s will being subverted by the magical bond creating a connection. Whatever, it wasn’t his call. The other couples seemed happy enough. Sam deserved that. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered urgently at his back. The angel’s stance tensed. ‘Jaguar. Ten o’clock.”

Dean whipped his head around. “Your ten-o’clock, or my ten-o’clock?” He frantically searched, but failed to find the predator. Cas grabbed Dean’s jaw and forcibly swiveled his head to face directly towards the edge of the jungle where a sleek, spotted cat stalked toward them. Dean swallowed. Now was not the time, but the feel of those long fingers firmly on his throat had his dick twitching feebly in his shorts.  _ Get with the program, Winchester. _

He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Cas, facing off with the animal. It smoothly transitioned from animal form into an old woman, striding towards them. 

“Whoa,” said Dean. “Just like the Black or White video.” Goddess or no, she couldn’t stop him from quipping in the face of danger.  Cas squinted at him, confused. “Yeah, I’ll show you later. Michael Jackson.” Dean did his best to explain as the wizened woman started to circle them. 

They moved in tandem, matching the crone step for step. She wore a live snake as a headdress and it hissed at them intermittently. She pointed at Dean with a clawed finger. “You,” she croaked. “You escaped me before.” Her smile was jagged, her mouth filled with pointed feline teeth. “Your soul belongs to me.” 

Cas stepped in front of Dean smoothly. “That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said, in the same determined tone he had called Michael “Ass-Butt” a decade earlier. “His soul is his own to possess, and I have long claimed the role of its safe-keeping. You must take a place in line.”

Dean’s jaw dropped open. Cas wasn’t  _ wrong _ , per se. It just surprised him to hear Cas state it so baldly. If it also lit a flame of warmth in his chest, well-that was incidental.

Ixchel, affronted at Cas’ insubordination, lunged at them. Cas attacked with his angel blade, but she easily dodged the strike. Dean took advantage of the distraction to circle around to her back. “Sammy?” he called toward the waterfall, wondering how they were coming with the trapping spell, before he had the wind knocked out of him as Ixchel threw his face into the rocky shore with a burst of energy that shot from her claws. 

Dean looked over his shoulder to see Cas at her back, reaching around her throat with his lethal blade. She flung his arm away easily and shot him backward with another lightning bolt from her claws. Facing her, Dean could see they were actually rainbow-streaked,  _ like Emperor Palpatine at a Pride parade _ , he thought, giddy with fear. 

Dean coughed and heaved himself up to face the goddess, shouting again. ‘SAM! NOW would be GREAT!”

\-------------------------

Standing under the waterfall with Odie was different this time. For one thing, they were both completely naked. Sam tried to be a gentleman, but, let’s be honest, that was a lot of skin in front of him and he had to look at her to complete the ceremony, right? 

Odie gave him a look like she knew exactly what he was thinking. She produced the snake from her waterproof pack of supplies. Wrapping it around their wrists, she began speaking quickly in Spanish. The atmosphere thickened behind the curtain of the waterfall, shimmering and heavy with burgeoning magics.

At Odie’s command, Sam grabbed the water bottle they had hastily covered in Ixchel’s markings, full of ocean water. He tipping it to Odie’s mouth and she drank, lashes dropping shut. Time seemed to stretch like salt-water taffy. She reached for the bottle and repeated the action, proffering the bottle to Sam. 

He drank, and time rushed back. Sam blinked at Odie, the sound of rushing water suddenly loud again in his ears. They regarded one another for a moment, silly smiles on their faces.

Odie pulled herself forward on Sam’s arms, bobbing in the water, to press a kiss to his lips. He felt her smile into it. His muscles relaxed as he returned it: the kiss and the smile. The sharp sounds of a struggle piercing the dull hum of the waterfall finally forced the couple apart.

“That’s our cue,” said Odie, nodding at Sam. She clutched his arm while she pulled a jar from her pack, stashing it in the hollow rock hidden in the little recess. Then she released him and began treading water. “Go!” She took a breath and ducked under the water.

Sam followed suit immediately. They dover to the bottom of the pool, only scant of two meters under the surface of the water. There they fumbled fingers in the dark, seeking broken pieces of pottery. Sam found the one he had cut his foot on, and another. Odie grasped three smaller pieces. The bobbed to the surface, stashing the pieces in the hollow. Odie bit her lip. “It’s not enough,” she declared. She ducked back under. Sam made to join her and heard his brother’s voice cut through the falls. Sam’s heart clenched. The only way he could help Dean was to finish this. They needed the pottery-as close to all of it as possible. He vanished under the water, seeking black shards in the black darkness of the water, with only the moonlight above for illumination. 

Another torturous four trips, and they had what they needed. Some he had returned empty handed. His chest felt as though it would explode. Odie never faltered, never failed. She just kept diving under the smooth inky water without waiting to see if Sam would follow; she expected nothing of him, and for that, he wanted to give her everything. 

When she turned dark eyes on him and asked him to hold her up while she worked, Sam drew her back to him, tethering her by the waist so she could have her hands free. Her nimble fingers worked quickly in the hollow, affixing the broken pieces of the vessel with a rank mixture she had brought in the jar. Sam swallowed, trying not to rush her. He could hear shouts from his brother and Cas out in the night. Hopefully Ixchel hadn’t consumed Dean yet…

After dabbing the foul mixture on the cracks, Odie spoke a few Mayan words and they glowed white, sealing as if no break had ever occurred. She repeated the spell on each crack until the vessel rested whole and sleek in her hands. Ixchel’s marking was whole and unblemished on the swell of its bowl. Odie passed it wordlessly to Sam and they both swam for shore, no time to waste.

\-------------------------------------

Ixchel circled Dean. The jaguar face kept flashing, superimposed, onto her crone form, making Dean a little nauseous. Cas gave a wet cough somewhere behind her. “You were warned, men” She said the word ‘men’ like a curse; the way a human might say ‘rat.’

“The only sacrifice I asked of you was your everlasting commitment to one another.” Ixchel’s form was that of the maiden now, tall and proud with flowing waist-length hair. She kneeled in front of Dean, tipping his chin up. “Make your sacrifice and receive my blessings. If you do not make your commitment, then my wrath and displeasure will be felt.”

Dean’s eyes never flickered towards Cas, but somehow she sensed the angel approaching. She waved a negligent hand, sending Cas into a large tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Dean flinched and cried out “Cas! No!” 

Ixchel continued to freeze Dean in place. At least she wasn’t sliding him up a wall, Dean thought. “You will be sacrifices so I can bestow blessings on those faithful to me: happiness, children, faithfulness, rain and prosperity in harvest, and success in war and conflict.”

Dean rolled his eyes, seeing Cas rise slowly behind her. “Great. More monologuing. My very favorite.” He always tried to piss them off; make ‘em sloppy. A Winchester original. Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean, well aware of what the hunter was attempting.

Ixchel leaned close but hadn’t gone all monster mouth on him yet. Dean racked his brain for more ammo. “I don’t need your blessings. Team Free Will does things on our own terms. We don’t need your stupid labels or promises or commitments people can’t keep.” 

Ixchel closed a hand around Dean’s throat and the hunter began speaking rapidly, his eyes meeting Cas’, speaking to him and him only. “ I’m sorry Cas, but this life; hunting, who we are, what we do?” Ixchel paused in her befuddlement at this rant. Cas’ eyes grew wide. He took a few halting steps towards Dean, not wanting to tip off the goddess, but unable to hold himself back. 

Dean continued. “We’re never going to have the apple pie life. And, believe me, that’s okay. Not everyone needs a ceremony, a cozy job and bank account with a white picket fence, and a stroller full of fat little babies with green and blue eyes.” Dean choked back a sob. He meant his words to be lighthearted; sarcastic. Cas’ soulful look told Dean the angel heard every bit of how close those hidden desires cut to Dean’s bones. “But Cas,” Dean spat out, craning his neck to speak around Ixchel, “I can promise you this. I will love you as best I can, for as long as I can. “

Ixchel dropped her hand. She turned to regard Cas. She stalked towards him with the regal gait of the jaguar. Cas put his hands up and approached Dean slowly, skirting her as he spoke. “Dean. You are enough for me. All I want for the rest of my days on this plane is to fight by your side. To share your life and love as long as I’m lucky to have it.” Ixchel drew back, surprised, flickering between the jaguar and the crone. 

Dean tasted salt. It took him a moment to realize it was the taste of his own tears. Cas fell to his knees in the place Ixchel had crouched moments earlier. Cas tenderly drew Dean’s face to his, cupping the hunter’s face in both hands, and kissed him deeply. Dean figured he might as well enjoy some of his last moments with his soul and lost himself in it. Their tongues met and Dean forgot about all of it; Ixchel, Sam, the retreat. The only thing that existed was Cas. Cas’ pulse thrumming at the base of his throat. Cas’ breath soft against Dean’s cheek. Dean’s voice, groaning in helpless pleasure.

“Are we interrupting something?” Melodie’s voice rang out clearly across the shore. She and Sam were dripping wet, carrying a large black vessel. Dean looked around, dazed.

“Where’d she go?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Sam smirked. “We saw a jaguar slinking into the jungle while you two were macking on each other, all oblivious to danger and whatnot.”

“How much of that did you catch?” asked Cas, warily looking between Sam and Odie.

“Enough to hear that you probably satisfied Ixchel with your promises,” Sam said. Dean felt his face burn. “I guess that’s the hunter’s version of ‘til death do us part.’”

Cas nodded seriously. He still hadn’t released Dean, and they were still sprawled on the rocky shore. Dean ran his fingers across Cas’ dark jaw. He wanted to feel ashamed, but he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck anymore. He meant what he had said. Cas caught Dean’s hand in his and granted him a brilliant smile. His teeth flashed white in the early light of dawn. Dean breathed, and for once, it felt easy.

Sam was staring at the creeping pink light overhead, pretending not to see their display. Odie broke the comfortable silence. 

“I hate to disturb this beautiful moment, gentlemen, but I’m tired and I want to get out of here.” She placed Ixchel’s vessel firmly in front of her and Sam. “According to my papa, there’s just one thing left to do.” Sam nodded, and produced his knife. He ran it quickly across his palm before the protest Dean felt even reached his vocal cords. Sam handed it to Odie, who followed suit. The both squeezed their fists over the vessel until plenty of blood drip into it. The wind began to rush in the tropical clearing. Mist gathering in the early morning, coalescing and dripping like a tiny rainstorm into the black pot. 

“Kinda makes me wish I had a tiny little umbrella,” Dean joked, brushing off the back of his shorts. Cas, standing next to him, just gave him a reproachful look. Odie clapped her hands with intent. She picked up the smooth pot and walked carefully around the pool’s edge until she stood just to the side of the falls. 

Sam came to stand next to Cas and Dean, watching Odie. Sam seemed to stand even taller, Dean noticed. Odie shouted something in the unfamiliar (to Dean) tongue of her mother’s people, and hurled the pot into the large rock face of the cliff behind the falls. The jug shattered into tiny shards that rained down into the pool along with the steady splash of water from the falls. A soft explosion of energy knocked her backwards onto her rear, then reached the three men, who also fell over.

In the ensuing quiet, Odie joined the trio and they slowly gathering their things to begin the hike back down. Nobody mentioned the fresh claw marks on the face of the rock wall behind the falls. None of them saw fit to bring up the vivid rainbow that stretched across the morning sky, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this is about done. Perhaps two more chapters? Smut and epilogue?


End file.
